Blood Aria
by Mikalia
Summary: NON YAOI. In a world where the original Operation Meteor is a success, Treize Kushrenada finds he has more to worry about than Dekim Barton looming over his head. Language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Author's Note: This is an AU fic where the "original" Operation Meteor (Dekim Barton's plot to drop colonies on the earth as revealed in Endless Waltz) is a success—and an entire year early, Treize finds himself as the only military official left that's capable of picking up the pieces. But of course, it's not that simple. This story is also Post – Apocalypse: the cast is going to behave somewhat differently than normal. However, I will try to keep everyone as in character as I can. There will be foul language, murder, and some OOC behavior due to the nature of the setting and the plot.

*********************

Chapter 1

*Luxembourg*

The skies were gray; the sun was a faint disc beyond the thick blanket of clouds. The air was frigid and damp from the rains. Was it spring? Summer? What month was it? Treize lost track around three years ago. But what did it matter: everyday looked just like this. Earl gray clouds and a sliver of light beyond them during the day, and night time of perpetual darkness that blanketed every inch of the earth.

"Your Excellency...?"

"There's no need for that anymore, Une." he said lowly as he shifted his tired blue eyes to the rubble that used to be his Luxembourg estate. Every wall, window, piece of furniture was completely destroyed. There was nothing left but stone and ash. "I'm hardly an aristocrat anymore, and barely a soldier or a leader. ...Barton saw to that."

Une shook her head and adjusted her glasses. A thin crack ran through the center of the right lens, and the frame was bent slightly. "You're still a leader, Sir. Those who remain still see you as such, myself included. That has not and will not change."

"...I never considered my agenda to be simple. To break down the Earth Sphere Alliance and Romefeller Foundation from the inside out would have taken the better part of the year, maybe longer. It was only the beginning. A beginning that met its end once Dekim Barton decided to execute Operation Meteor earlier than anticipated. I've always known Barton to have high levels of influence within the realm of politics. But to garner the full support of the colonies to execute more than one Colony Drop on the earth...." A mild frown crossed his face as he shook his head. "MOII would have easily ended all life here. Why he chose Colonies instead of the abandoned resource asteroid raises questions. How he managed this at all still baffles me. I'm positive at least one person objected. ...Tell me Une. If **I** attempted something of this scale, do you believe Dermail, Noventa and Tsuberov would have given me their full support?"

Une gazed at her superior as he stared into the distance. "...I doubt it, Sir. Unless it would somehow benefit them, I highly doubt it. As cryptic as it may sound, it **is** safe to assume that Barton spared us MOII in order to bring us to heel. Regardless, it is quite clear that the earth is in no condition to defend herself should the Colonies become anymore aggressive. OZ is a shell of its former self, with but a few hundred soldiers remaining. Even less than that are combat ready."

Treize sighed quietly in mild resignation. "Apparently so. Can't help but admire their propaganda, though: The colonies razed the surface of the earth to rid humanity of those who abet war. And it is the colonies who will help the people of earth rebuild and start anew in absolute peace. A fine plot of for ruling the entire Earth Sphere, wouldn't you say?"

"It's more of a slaughter than a plot, Sir."

"A slaughter indeed. ...Any word from Zechs?"

"Yes, Sir. He and twenty other soldiers are on their way here as we speak. At least, that's what we're told. We can't confirm it."

"...I believe it. The nature of the situation means nothing; he won't go down easily. How long until he arrives?"

"We're hoping he'll arrive before sundown any day now; if not, in the morning. Traveling at night is a risk we know he would not take, especially if anyone with him is injured."

"And our stores?"

"There are only three hundred and fifty seven of us, and we have enough food stores here for about three more years. It'll be no trouble to accommodate an additional twenty one people, once they arrive." Une adjusted her glasses again. "Noin has just arrived from Central Africa. Unfortunately, she is the sole survivor of Lake Victoria. All of her students were killed in the attacks or died en route."

"To lose them all...and many of them so young. Tell Lucrezia I'll speak with her once she settles in. If Barton and his ilk continue to reach out to us, disregard them. I want to know more about this operation of his and exactly who backed him to make it successful. Names, locations...anything you can find. Keep watch for Zechs; start watching for him immediately."

"Our resources are limited, but we'll do what we can Sir." Une nodded lightly. "Also..."

"Also?"

"The Colonies have started sending supplies to clusters of surviving civilians worldwide. Should we accept supplies from them as well?"

"After what they've done in the name of 'peace'? After they've taken the lives of billions just to get to us??" Treize glared at the rubble at his feet. "Absolutely not. Send it back. All of it! The people of earth will rebuild without the help of crass politicians who wreak total havoc and destruction under the false premise of achieving peace. Anyone who uses genocide as a scare tactic is an enemy of the people. That includes Dekim Barton!"

"Understood."

***********

*Moon Base*

"So, they have chosen to refuse us."

"Yes, Sir."

Dekim Barton hummed mildly in amusement. "Treize is just like his father: stubborn to a fault. Does he have any particular reason for refusing sorely needed aid from the Colonies?"

"None that we could gather, Sir." the soldier shook her head. "They've continued to decline any level of contact with us for the last two years or so. It's likely they have multiple supply caches, but those won't last forever."

"Leave them be, for now." Dekim turned in his seat and gazed at the earth through the reinforced glass. The heavy cloud cover gave the once blue-green planet a sullen and gray appearance. "Those who refuse the Colonial Federation are our enemies. To refuse our aid is to concede to death. And if Treize wishes to lead his precious 'Specials' to their graves in defiance, then so be it. Is our next shipment ready to leave?"

"Yes, Sir. It's already en route to earth and should be landing in South America within the next 24 hours."

"Hmph. Let him lead his motley crew to starvation. WE will tend to the needs of the people of earth, not those who abet war. Give the people what they need, and they will look upon you with favor. Yes, give the people their food and they will become as loyal as dogs, eating from the palm of your hand." He smiled thinly and turned to a strawberry blonde child sitting to his left. "Don't you agree, Mariemaia?"

"...Yes, grandfather."

*********************

*Countryside*

Miliardo frowned heavily at the shadows on the road ahead of him. The fog had become heavy; he scarcely knew where "here" was. This area was mostly unpopulated, save for the occasional stray dog or dessicated corpse. A scorched sign they passed miles back might have said "Berlin". If so, Luxembourg could not be far off. The shadowed figures in the distance could very well be headquarters: they did not move or flinch, so they could not be theives. It was still light out, but there was no telling how many hours of it remained. Even so, he could not travel at a pace that was fast enough to beat the impending dusk; four people in his party were injured. Moving about in the darkness was suicide.

"Excuse me, Sir..." He turned his head to the man at his shoulder. He was scarred and bruised, rings around his eyes from exhaustion. His hair was matted and dirty. Miliardo was no different. "There's something you need to see."

The man led him back to the main party--those who could stand were gathered in a circle. Those who were injured were resting on the side of the road. Miliardo approached the circle, the men and women parting to let him pass. At their feet was a box, a safe of sorts. There was a combination dial and a padlock. "We found it lying in the trees, just off the road. It doesn't look too damaged."

"Do we have anything to open it with?"

"We should have a crowbar or wire cutters, but nothing to break the combination."

"Nevermind that. Do we still have the sledge hammer we found recently?"

"Yes Sir."

"Bring it."

"What do you think is inside Sir...?"

_Good question_. For all Miliardo knew, it could be a bomb. Or filled with the entrails of some unfortunate individual, just like the box they discovered at the remains of a campsite over what felt like months ago. They found MANY boxes like that one. There was a chance that this safe was the same.

"My concern lies with whether or not it'll explode, not its contents."

"I hope it's no one's heart or brain again...I don't think I can deal with that again."

"You're not the only one." he muttered as he took the hammer that was handed to him and motioned for everyone to give him distance. He didn't know how close or how far they were to headquarters; he couldn't tell in the fog. If food was in here, it would be a much needed blessing, as their rations were nearly depleted. If it was human remains again, he could deal with that. If it was a bomb and they were put out of their misery, he would not be pleased. They did not come all this way only to die like dogs on the street. To become like the years old corpses they passed regularly.

The sheer thought was enough for him to raise the hammer and bring it down with enough force to blast the door from the container, padlock and all. No explosion; just various items spilled forward. Keys. Batteries. A flashlight. A compass. Photos. Five cans rolled on the pavement. There were objects still inside. Miliardo kneeled and reached into the container--nothing wet, soft, or dead graced his fingers. There was no odor. He pulled out a can opener and more photos. Letters. He gave a soft gasp. "A map..." He quickly unfolded it and spread it on the top of the safe. A convenient X was placed between two points: one point was Luxembourg, off to his right. The point to his left was unintelligble.

"Where did you find this again?"

"Just off the road, about 300 feet into the trees."

"Show me."

Miliardo took the map and was led to the exact spot where the safe was extracted. He looked ahead, further into the scorched woods and spotted what looked like an estate. From his position, it appeared whole. He looked overhead; the light was fading. He finally turned to the handful of people behind him.

"Dark is approaching, and we don't have much time. I want those who are armed to clear that building of any hostiles. Take no chances; if it moves, shoot it. Inspect the structure, make sure it's sound. Once clear, we move into the building. The injured goes first. We will camp there tonight and continue in the morning."

"Sir."

"Yes, Otto?"

"How far do you think we've come?"

Miliardo frowned lightly and shook his head as six people with shotguns and rifles surged forward. "It's hard to tell. We have a map now, and hopefully something in that building can tell us exactly where we are. How are our injured?"

"They're hanging on, Sir."

"Aren't we all hanging on?"

Otto nodded lightly. "Yes Sir. We are. And we have no intention of letting go, either."

"Neither do I." The sounds of gunfire filled the air. "Tell me the truth Otto: how far do YOU think we've come?"

"...We have people injured, but they're definitely not down for the count. Those who aren't injured are up for any task." Otto rubbed his neck, half in pain and half in contemplation. "If we're not close to headquarters, we've at least found shelter for a few nights and maybe more food and supplies. A lot of people died doing exactly what we're doing, but we're still alive. We've done pretty well. I'd say, we're pretty damned lucky, Sir."

He hummed in agreement. The gun fire ceased, and two people ran towards him. They came to a stop; one shouldered their rifle, the other coughed briefly before straightening themselves.

"Building's clear, Sir. No casualties on our end. The structure is sound and intact; there's even a cellar with supplies. Food included."

"Let's get the injured and that safe off the road. Keep an eye out until everyone is inside. Once again: if it so much as moves, I want it dead. We don't need the marauders at our backs."

"And the bodies in the building?"

"Strip them and burn them."

"Yessir!"

Days or weeks ago, a small group of civilians told him a rumor that Luxembourg was completely destroyed, including headquarters. He asked if they heard anything about Treize or Noin. They said no, before stalking off to their fate. Miliardo knew both of them well; they would never give Dekim Barton the satisfaction of an easy victory. Especially not after fall of the colonies. They were alive. They were at Luxembourg, and he will get there by any means necessary.

"The light's getting dim...we'd better go on ahead, Sir."

Miliardo nodded and fell several paces behind Otto.

_Doing well? This is true. But 'damned lucky'? That's an understatement._

_***************_

Thank you for reading! Please, feel free to review (I'll even return the favor!). Thanks again.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Author's Note: This is an AU fic where the "original" Operation Meteor (Dekim Barton's plot to drop colonies on the earth) is a success, and Treize finds himself as the only military official left that's capable of picking up the pieces. But of course, it's not that simple. There will be foul language, murder, and some OOC behavior due to the nature of the setting and the plot.

Chapter 2

*Amazon, South America*

Exhausted, aching and hungry.

They were always hungry. They sat around the small room, all eight adults and three children; their meager supply of food was enough to feed five people. They were able to scavenge just these meager cans from the remnants of nearby towns and villages. The marauders took everything else earlier on in the destruction, demanding unimaginable costs for a simple spoonful of beans or a sip of water. Seven cans of food would last them a few days. Then they would have to leave. Leaving meant three ways to die: one would be of exposure. The second would be at the hands of the cannibals and thieves, who were considered one and the same when their own supplies ran low. Lastly, the bloated anacondas that made man their prey of choice could devour them. There was safety within the house, but a slow death awaited them. Death surrounded them, and would devour them regardless the path they chose.

A soft rumble broke the silence, but no one moved. If it was the rains, it meant more clouded drinking water and a small extension on their short life span. Running from another falling colony was pointless. If artillery this loud fell into the hands of marauders, their death would be painful but quick. A weak voice murmured 'Death is marching on us.' as the noise grew louder and morphed into a rapid drumbeat. One of the children, a wiry dark-haired girl clamored from her position against the wall and made her way to a broken window. Eyes that were encircled with grime went wide as the wind pushed her wild hair from her face.

"Schala!! Get away from there!!"

"Look!! What is that?"

Everyone staggered to the window, eager to see and yet, not expecting anything. Soon, they were all awestruck at the insect-like craft hovering loudly above their shanty.

"God it's a helicopter!!"

"Is it here to kill us?"

"It's carrying something!"

Suspended from its belly was a massive crate nearly a story high and twice as wide. "Property of Colonial Federation" was stamped on its visible side. The suspension cables snapped and the crate fell, smashing the weakened trees and hitting the soft earth with a low 'boom'. The craft left as quickly it came, cables dangling below it in the wind. There was no indication they were friend or foe as it flew into the distance, and eventually disappeared from sight. The small group emerged from the weak structure and approached the crate with great caution.

"What do you think it is?"

"Should we open it at all?"

"What if it's a bomb?"

"What if soldiers are in there??"

"What if it's food?"

They went silent, their hunger overriding any precaution and logic. No movements were made. The only sounds were the winds howling in the remains of the jungle canopy and their growling bellies.

"Enough debating. Get the crowbars."

"What if it'll explode?" someone shouted in protest as the adults dispersed.

"If it does, we'll just die a lot faster. If it's food, we'll at least die with something to eat."

"What if the marauders come? They heard this thing land!"

"WE'LL charge THEM this time around. Open it up."

Crowbars went into the hinges, and soon the side of the crate was on the ground. Smaller boxes filled the container to the top. Each adult set to extracting the boxes and setting them on the jungle floor. Murmurs of relief, joy and gratitude to God vibrated the air, as the opened boxes revealed rice, flour, canned goods, preserved fruits. Matches, gasoline, charcoal and water filled others. Murmurs became gasps of delight; they were saved.

For now.

Followed by the remaining two children, Schala slipped around the working adults and approached a newly placed stack of boxes near the crate. Their gazes were wary, but curious as a sweet, tangy scent emanated from the box.

"What's in there?"

"Probably just more food."

"But it smells nice. Like fruit or something."

"I'll open it."

With bony and nimble fingers, she pried the box open flap by flap. The smell was overwhelming to their young senses. They all but jumped into the box and knocked it over, spilling its contents on the dead jungle floor. The shouts and scolding from the adults fell on deaf ears as they lunged at their newfound bounty.

A bright and colorful assortment of various candies and treats.

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*Luxembourg*

Lucrezia Noin lost a great deal over the course of her life. Her home in Italy was razed by the power hungry Alliance. Most of her family was killed in the violence. In the battles between the earth and the colonies well before the fall of the latter, she had lost childhood friends in combat. Now, ALL of her students of the Lake Victoria Academy were lost to her. Not during a training exercise gone awry. Not during a skirmish with Colonists. They were lost to raining Colonies and the fatal injuries they suffered while escaping the ruins of the once prestigious institution. It took her nearly two years to travel from Central Africa, all the way to Luxembourg. She made it alive, but without a single damned soldier to show for it. She had no business surviving when so many had died in her charge. And there was no doubt in her mind as she sat on her cot sipping hot tea from old porcelain that Treize was severely disappointed in the losses.

_Damn the Colonies to hell_.

"Lu...?" Noin snapped her head in the direction of the door, to see Treize gazing at her quietly in concern. Those same pristine blue eyes were exhausted, the task of piecing together what was left of OZ taking its toll on his handsome face. His hair had grown past his shoulders, and he traded his elegant uniform for olive green camouflage and combat boots. She'd heard of what happened to his family in Munich, and could only imagine what the man was going through internally. Noin shook her head. They had much in common. They always did.

"I did the best I could--"

"I would never assume otherwise."

She blinked repeatedly, forcing back tears that welled in her eyes. "Your Excellency--"

"Lucrezia. Do not call me that." He stepped into the small room and closed the door behind him. "I've known you since Lake Victoria; cadets no less. I want you to call me by my name...like old times."

She sighed quietly. "How many died, Treize? How many didn't have to die? I should have acted. I should have evacuated everyone before hand."

"The Colony Drops took everyone by surprise, Lu. Even **I** wasn't prepared--"

"That's no excuse!" Noin shouted angrily, shifting her eyes to her reflection in the tea of her cup. "I was responsible for **all** of them, Treize. Their families trusted me with their lives! **Two** **years** I spent, willing them along, willing them to survive the trip here despite their injuries and broken spirits. And instead of graduating them or tending to their injuries once they got here, I ended up digging their graves with my own two hands. One by one!" The once proud Ensign wilted visibly. "I should have done **something**. ...I should have **tried**. I should have **tried** anything that would have prevented having to lead them on a perpetual death march. Anything that would have spared at least **one **of them."

"...I am not going to call you a failure, Lu. You did all you could to bring as many of the students here as possible. We **all** tried to save as many as we could. No one anticipated this; not even the Alliance saw this coming, let alone OZ or Romefeller. The entire earth population was caught off guard. ...Dare I say it, but no amount of preparation would have changed what's happened." He paused momentarily, and she heard him exhale softly. "It is...extremely unfortunate to lose **all** the students from Lake Victoria. However, you did the very best you could to bring them here; your survival proves your efforts, Lucrezia. Your best is more than anyone could ask for, and their deaths are not in vain. Based on that, I will **never** call you a failure."

Noin placed the cup on the small stand. She was silent. He was silent. She knew he was telling the truth; Treize was always good at telling the truth. He was also good at seeing through people, and he saw through Noin like glass.

"You're thinking you should have died with them."

"Yes." She frowned heavily. "Those bastards killed my students--our future subordinates, successors. Compensation is due. It's due for the lost students, soldiers and civilians as well. It was us they were after, and they murdered so many innocents. What was that cruelty for? Compensation, no, vengeance is more than due. And if I have to die to get it, then I will."

"I feel the same as you, believe me. Only God knows the grief and the rage we're all feeling right now. But conceding to death is not the answer." She felt the cot shift under his weight. He rested a hand on her shoulder, finally earning her gaze; she'd seen that look on his face before. Dermail and Tsuberov often froze in mid-debate when he gazed at them as he was gazing at her. His refusal to back down was evident. Some saw it as his stubborn personality rising to the surface. But to those who knew Treize well, it was not his stubborn nature. It was a brief flicker of his old self, before the colonies fell. "Mark my words, Lucrezia. Their deaths won't be in vain."

She nodded lightly and retrieved the cup from the stand. "...How do you maintain your composure in these rough times, Treize?"

He turned his gaze to nothing in particular. "I ask myself that question, day by day. And I can never find an answer. ...Have you eaten yet?"

"Not in the past three days."

"I'll bring rations for you."

"Where's Zechs...? Have you heard from him?"

"Yes--he's on his way here." He patted her shoulder and rose from his spot next to her. "Don't worry about Milliardo. He can fend for himself, and he'll bring any survivors with him in one piece."

"You haven't called him that in years."

"With the Sanc Kingdom gone from the earth completely, there's no need for him to hide his identity anymore. He said as much, before we lost contact."

She returned her gaze to her now cold tea and sighed heavily. '_Well, Lu... If you want vengeance, dying is no longer an option_.' Before she could drink, the cup was pulled from her hands. Noin looked up to see Treize smile thinly--a vacant smile--as he made his exit. He was trying hard to hide his frustration, too hard. Most likely, Milliardo was doing the same to keep any level of morale from sinking lower than what it was. She wished she were that skillful at hiding, at wearing a mask to hide her true emotions. Not only from everyone else, but from herself.

The only thing she was good at so far, was silently wiping away the tears that fell at the thought of each hand-buried student.

*****************

Une glassed the wastelands of what used to be Germany with her binoculars, until she captured several shapes in the distance. Many of them were small, some large and ALL of them were moving towards what remained of OZ Headquarters. _...Are those Leos? Is Peacecraft with them?_

The last three years spent in Luxembourg consisted of cleaning up the damage caused by the raining colonies, burying the dead, repairing what they could use and searching for survivors in the area. There were very few, only the some three hundred that were present. There were mobile suits in the hangars below, but without capable pilots they were useless. Une, Noin and Treize were the only three with extensive experience in a mobile suit. Though Noin was a talent, she was in no condition for combat. All the rest were novices, their only experience being that of a virtual simulator. If Leos or Aries--armed or not--walked with this group, they would not stand a chance.

"Ma'am, what should we do? If they're hostile--"

"There is no room for pessimism. We're expecting Merquise any day now; send the scouts out, but they **are not** to engage. The last thing we need is incoming fire. Find out who and what they are, and return immediately. I want anyone who is able to fight to assume defensive positions around the perimeter the building." Une lowered the binoculars and narrowed her eyes. "Warn His Excellency...and let's pray that they're **not **hostile."

*****************

Thanks for reading! If you haven't left a review already, feel ree to do so! Thanks again.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Author's Note: This is an AU fic where the "original" Operation Meteor (Dekim Barton's plot to drop colonies on the earth) is a success, and Treize finds himself as the only military official left that's capable of picking up the pieces. But of course, it's not that simple. There will be foul language, murder, and some OOC behavior due to the nature of the setting and the plot.

****************

Chapter 3

* Countryside*

Darkness found the small temporary safe house and its occupants quickly; the only sources of light came from the candles burning within and the new flashlights wielded by the six man patrol outside. Supplies found in the basement yielded canned food, dried goods, ammunition for their rifles, and gas for heat and an old fashioned stove. The building itself was a small vacation home, but provided some measure of security: it was close to the road, but deep enough in the trees to be over looked.

While everyone was able to find space and some measure of comfort, Miliardo and his group knew that their safety in this place was a belief. An implication and nothing more. They were still targets for thieves and cannibals, no matter how armed or fed. However, no thief or cannibal was brazen enough to stalk the roads at night. Not merely because the temperatures fell to near freezing in a few hours, but because of the lack of visibility. Navigating a heavily wooded area with the occasional 30 foot drop in the utter darkness—flashlights or no, was a game **no one** would dare play.

Most of Miliardo's group was already asleep, getting much needed rest from their long journey from...where ever. Miliardo shook himself gently from a momentary haze as he sat at the old dinning room table with Otto and Chandler: a Lake Victoria transfer meant to be placed in Otto's charge just before "The Fall". He'd forgotten where they traveled from. He lost track of time all together. "Years" would immediately come to mind if someone chose to inquire how long it'd been since the colonies fell, and since they embarked on their travels to headquarters. Yet, the number of years would always be in question. There were only brief waves and flickers of familiarity to help estimate what point of the year they were in. Eventually, he'd given up on that and finally given up on time itself. In this world, the constant sheet of gray clouds had rendered time both meaningless **and** useless.

He, Otto and Chandler were passing around a bottle of old bourbon above three empty plates; only but a few grains of rice and beans the only evidence that they'd eaten at all. The bourbon itself was much older, pilfered from the previous owner's liquor cabinet. The bottle was dated 2057: two hundred years ago, before the After Colony character. The vintage was astronomical in value, but extremely appreciated as its contents were poured into their glasses. And despite the bottle being half empty, the trio was still stone sober regardless of their individual constitutions.

"Well..." Chandler sighed as she contemplated the spirits in her own glass. "This is **way** more than the recruiters told me I'd be getting myself into. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they knew this was going to happen."

"If that's the case, they were better informed that the **rest** of OZ." Otto snorted just before draining his glass. "We spent **years** trying to figure out the nature of Operation Meteor. We were barely fortunate enough to find out **when** it was supposed to happen, let alone the dropping of MOII."

"But apparently, something provoked the Colonies to act a year ahead of schedule and drop several residential colonies instead of MOII." Miliardo said more to himself than to Otto and Chandler. "Something or someone with enough clout pushed the Colonies. Or rather, they pushed Dekim Barton."

"Did we find out what or who?" she asked, watching him from behind the candle in front of her. "I mean, we knew about the operation. Do we know why they did this?"

"...The underlying scheme of Operation Meteor was to completely level the surface of the earth, as an act of revenge for Heero Yuy's murder some thirty years ago." A mild frown creased Miliardo's face. "However, The Fall happened before we could find out what made Barton act so hastily. Considering the Colonies' behavior since then, one can only wonder what their real agenda is. If the goal was to eradicate all life here out of vengeance, why spare a trace number of people and force them to cow-tow to your demands? Why spend money, time and resources herding the remaining populace and forcing their loyalty out of them, when they'll easily bow down for the sake of convenience?"

Otto reached for the bottle and held it thoughtfully, before shrugging and refilling his glass. "Perhaps some sort of point is being proven. Had the entire population been killed, on whom would Barton impose his will? The Barton Foundation has their hands wrapped around the Colonies as it is—their so-called officials won't stand for further oppression."

"Maybe it's to prove the Colonies don't need the earth..."

Otto and Miliardo cut their eyes at each other briefly, refraining from frowning on Chandler's naïveté and unintentional disregard for everything he'd said moments ago. Miliardo shook his head and breathed in.

"That point has been proven a long time ago, long before any of us were born Chandler. The Colonies have been self-sufficient for nearly two centuries now; they don't need the earth anymore, and they never will. Be that as it may, there's a reason why Barton spared us MOII and it has nothing to do with Heero Yuy. As far as Operation Meteor is concerned, it succeeded considering the extensive damage done to the earth. But why he insists on having the earth's population side with him raises countless questions and very few answers."

"He'd have dominion over both the earth **and** Colonies, Sir."

"For a man like Dekim Barton, mere conquest just isn't enough--it's too simple. If there was no benefit in keeping us alive, we would have been dead by now on his order." He let the statement linger long enough for her to comprehend. When she shifted uncomfortably, he continued. "…If it were as simple as taking over the earth, that would have been done by now as well. Claiming the earth as "his" politically is not an issue. Nor is the concept of enslaving us an issue. The true issue lies in this: if Treize and I are no longer a threat politically or otherwise, why is he still so adamant about weakening not only us, but everyone on earth any further? Furthermore, what is there to gain out of a destitute population with nothing to offer besides half-assed subservience for the sake of self-preservation?"

Chandler opened her mouth, but fell silent and lowered her head. There was no need to answer. Barton had everything to gain. If one wanted to speculate, then it could easily be said that the weakened population would serve as cheap labor--food and supplies would be their payment. The same could be said if Barton sought to extend his jurisdiction to Mars in the future, or engage in any costly venture. There were the thieves and cannibals, who could be paid to instill an under current of fear and inspire further dependence on the Federation for protection. Such tactics were proven throughout history. There was no reason why they could not work in the After Colony era, especially with the earth's newfound condition. After a long period of silence, Otto cleared his throat and passed the bottle to Miliardo.

"...Barton is out of our league at the moment; we need to concern ourselves with our own immediate situation. Dealing with Barton can come later."

Miliardo nodded mildly. "You're right."

"H-have you found out anything about this place, Sir?" Chandler finally said with her face tinted a faint red from the alcohol, visible even in the dim candlelight. Her tone made it clear that the change in subject was welcome. Miliardo accepted the extended bottle, but did not fill his empty glass. Instead he folded his long fingers on the surface of the table and leaned forward with his head hung low.

"...We're not far from headquarters."

The two watched him in silence. Miliardo couldn't tell if their shared silence was one of shock, surprise or disbelief. Otto frowned lightly at him.

"How far is "not far"?"

"Another 25 miles due west of here; it's roughly a week's walk, perhaps a day or so longer."

Chandler's face shifted into a frown that could not be identified. "A week is a long time."

"We've spent years on the move already." Otto said quickly. "And we've covered a lot of ground; a week is practically a stone's throw from here. There could be supplies, survivors."

"They could be dead for all we know!"

"But we **don't** know that." Miliardo shook his head slowly. "Two colonies landed opposite of each other in Europe. The debris from the impacts caused extensive damage but did not destroy everything. According to the rumors we've heard thus far, headquarters in Luxembourg is still standing. Standing, and occupied. Yet, as much as I dislike surprises we will have to wait until we get there to either confirm or discredit the rumors."

Otto's frown deepened. "And if the rumors are unfounded?"

"There's an underground supply cache we could use. Its entrance is by no means obvious; not even the marauders can find it. And even if they did, the elevator to go below requires a retina scan. If someone who is not an OZ soldier attempts to access the cache, a hidden gun turret will dispose of them."

"I meant if headquarters is not standing."

It was a question, not a statement. It was also a possibility Miliardo did not want to consider. Though old, the compound was well built. The younger structures would be damaged or destroyed, but the towering five hundred year old castle would still stand. The landmark would not fall, even with extensive structural damage done to it. "Have some faith, Otto. ...While you're at it, both of you should get some rest. You'll need it for the days ahead."

Just like that, the conversation was over. Otto heaved a silent sigh and took his half-filled glass with him to sleep. That left Miliardo and Chandler at the table, the latter pushing around the loose grains of rice on her plate with her fork. Her hazel eyes were locked on the eatery, a searching gaze made weary from years of traveling in the wastelands called earth. The entire group was guilty of it; Miliardo was certainly guilty of it, staring into whatever reflective surface was in his reach. Not staring, or thinking...only searching.

The search was for answers, always for answers. There was a reason why Dekim Barton carried out his plans so quickly. There was a reason why he chose to spare a figurative handful of people, when the original plan was to slaughter 9.2 billion people--and leave nothing left. However, nothing baffled Miliardo as much as the fact that the event was made possible to begin with. Such a plot took years to orchestrate, and much longer to convince the leaders in charge of the fallen colonies to agree to such an act.

_Barton. How did you do it? Who helped you? What's your true purpose for sparing us?_

Knowing that the old blowhard was responsible for the destruction on earth infuriated him beyond belief. As it was with Sanc, there was no explanation, no cause, no NECESSITY for such extreme violence. Yet, here he was: beaten, bruised, dirty and tired leading two dozen people on a march that stood a fifty-fifty chance of yielding survivors that weren't hostile. Their chances of survival were even lower. Trying to wrap his head around the "whys" and the "how's" of The Fall and the forces behind it would only frustrate him. Surviving alone was enough of a task. Solving the mystery around Dekim Barton would only drive him into madness; and his motley crew did not need that. Just as Otto had said earlier, the old fool would have to wait his turn. He raised his eyes to find Chandler watching him with round hazel eyes that searched him intently for answers. Answers he didn't have. Answers he may not be able to find. Not yet.

"...Do you think we'll make it, Sir?"

"Do you mean our group specifically? Or do you mean humanity as a whole?"

"…Both."

The answers were simple. No level of thought, debate or consideration was necessary.

"If you're asking if we can make it through a full-scale assault by the Federation, complete with mobile suits and ground troops, then the answer would be no. We simply do not have the capacity to launch an offensive or defend ourselves at any level. If another Colony were to fall or worse, MOII as originally planned, well..." he offered a futile shrug. "That would be the end of us. However those are worst-case scenarios, or "rewards" for staging some sort of rebellion. Even if they **were** to occur, they take time to execute—executing The Fall hardly happened overnight. I doubt an assault or the dropping of MOII would happen any faster."

Chandler nodded gently, cutting her eyes briefly and breathing in what was said. He could see the gears turning in her eyes, even as she tilted her head gently and donned a look of concern.

"…What about the earth?"

"The earth will survive, as it has in the past. This is not the first calamity to happen here, and definitely not the last. But if you're asking if we'll make it until the earth repairs the damage done to her, I'm afraid I cannot say." He paused for a moment, needing to choose his words carefully. He was already being blunt as it stood, and the girl was clearly on the verge of a breakdown. "You and I will certainly not live to see it. The same could easily be said of everyone else, worldwide. It pains me to say it, but we are much closer to total extinction than our own ancestors were eons ago. We will be **quite** fortunate if we survive this decade, let alone the century. However, those are long term concerns; concerns we have no control over. The question you **should** be asking is if we can "make it" through the increasing oppression of the Federation, and any plans—however sinister—they have in store for us."

She turned back to her plate and frowned. Miliardo did not like being this candid with Chandler. Despite having surviving The Fall at all, living through its aftermath and traveling with him and the hardened soldiers in their group, she was still very impressionable. A sensitive personality certainly did not help her. The ink was still wet on her enlistment contract when he and Otto found her years ago, freezing and positively shaken deep in one of many shattered cities. However, after several years she should have steeled herself at some level by now. Chandler already knew the answers to her own questions; she knew and understood the severity of the situation. But she did not have the strength or the detachment necessary to accept them. She was still too soft. It was clear in the sudden moisture of her eyes--she had yet to come to terms with the fact that the earth and humanity was forever changed. There was no going back, by any means. She wasn't ready to move forward, even if the outcome would be bleak. Not willingly.

"Do you think everyone's alive at Luxembourg?"

"We can only hope Chandler. You should rest. We have a long trip ahead of us."

"I don't mean to sound weak, Sir. It's just...this is a lot to take in. I wasn't even a day out of basic training when all this went down. I knew I had to expect to be involved in some kind of violence, but this…" She turned her eyes to her glass, focusing her gaze on its contents. "Do you have any ideas as to why this had to happen? Did the Colonies really have to go this far to avenge someone?"

"I do have my suspicions. The Colonies did not have to go to this extent to exact their revenge. At least, they were not planned to at the time they did. However, what's done is done. We must focus on what's in front of us. Focus on what's in our immediate control. Dealing with Barton will have to come later, until we're capable of doing so."

Miliardo watched her carefully, as she released a heavy sigh and rubbed the back of her neck. "I guess I'm just eager to go home...see if my family is alright."

_She's still in denial; though, I can't blame her. I've been there—more times than comfortable. _"You'll have your opportunity. Get some rest."

She took up her glass quietly and left the table, thus leaving Miliardo to his thoughts and the quarter-full bottle. At first he reached for it, hoping to find some sort of temporary sanctuary at the bottom but retracted his arm. Instead he simply folded his fingers, resting his head against them and he closed his tired eyes.

Home. When was the last time he was home? Did he have a home still? Miliardo had many homes in his life. First was Sanc until it was destroyed. Then he was taken from place to place, until Treize and his family took him in. After that, home became Lake Victoria where he spent most of his teenaged life. His blood relations were dead, from what he knew. If they were alive, he had no clue on where to start searching for them. That is, if they wanted to be found. With that, Treize had become his brother, his only sibling. They grew up together, trained together despite Treize being five years senior and being his subordinate. They were family; they agreed to this during their time in training. And as far as the current state of the world was concerned, the only family they had.

Regardless, the possibilities of the rumors being true troubled him greatly. What if Luxembourg had truly fallen? What if thieves and cannibals had taken the survivors? No, if Treize were alive he wouldn't allow it. He would not allow another OZ soldier or even **himself** be felled so easily. He had too much honor, too much pride to give Barton that kind of satisfaction.

If he was alive.

_If Always __**if**__. There's no way to prove anything. Hope is the only thing driving everyone. But man can't live on hope alone. Man needs answers. I need answers, confirmation; any level of certainty would suffice right now._ He pressed a hand to his forehead. Staying here much longer was a death sentence. Headquarters was still more than a week away. The destruction of both Sanc AND the earth was starting to take its toll. Would he even be able to lead these few loyalists during the final stretch of their journey? Would Treize be waiting there alive? Or would cannibals be waiting in his stead...? Would the place be filled with death but devoid of supplies? He was starting to feel very much like Otto; he was starting to lose faith. And he was losing quickly.

_Treize, you cannot die yet. I won't allow it._

*****************

*Luxembourg*

Treize was leaning against the wall rather casually, waiting for the supply clerk to return with the items he requested. He spent the time thinking, and cursed himself for doing so. Despite his attempts to maintain his trademark cool demeanor, his thoughts had turned negative. Mostly due to the day to day struggle he faced to maintain some level of order here. His newfound negativity was also due to the fact that Barton had effectively--and politically--beaten him like an undesired stepchild. Learning about Operation Meteor at the last minute was the first strike, the tentative first slap. Sending the Colonies careening into earth was the official beating, knowing full well it would take decades; **centuries** perhaps, to restore the earth to its former state. Until then, humanity had the unholy privilege of dealing with cannibals, thieves and surviving on whatever they could find. While Treize and his small company of soldiers had the luxury of a supply cache and several more like this one hidden on various OZ bases around the world, their good fortune was scant in comparison to the ordeals faced by those beyond the walls of headquarters. Just knowing that OZ soldiers around the world were subject to being slaughtered like cattle was enough to turn his stomach.

_God, is this the vision of peace Barton had for humanity? A planet of men and women reduced to man-eating scavengers and vagabonds, while the mighty colonies rules from above?_

Barton. The name alone stoked his temper. As if taking Leia from him was not enough of an insult, Barton's operation disrupted all his plans to free the earth of oppression from the Earth Sphere Alliance and Romefeller. Even the Colonies would have benefited from his agenda: their autonomy would have been restored after more than a century of being dominated by the Alliance. Instead, Barton turned Treize's eight years of planning on its head by acting a year early and eradicated any chance of restoring order on earth or the colonies. He had to be planning all this for decades, at least since Heero Yuy's assassination. The support necessary to carry out such plans as dropping massive orbital structures on the earth, be it an abandoned resource asteroid or the homes of some one million people certainly did not come overnight. Even with his level of influence, Dekim could not convince ALL the colonial delegates to believe that dropping the colonies were a logical and strategic maneuver for revenge. Someone had to disagree, to refuse. And if they did, why didn't they do anything to stop him? Why didn't they gather the people and resources necessary to do so? Why didn't they say something, DO something, anything to prevent this madness and spare billions—

"Sir?"

Treize put a hand to his forehead, and sighed heavily. The fact that Barton had the advantage over him not only frustrated him, it infuriated him. So great was his fury, if Barton was standing here at this very moment, he would beat the man within an inch of his life—and he'd enjoy it to the point of madness. But with the needs of some three hundred people as a main priority and his sanity a necessity, no matter how shaken, that would have to wait.

"General??" A female voice nearly shouting his former title brought his reverie to a halt, and his frayed nerves were grateful. He lowered his hand and donned his mask of calm and control. "You seem upset. Are you alright?"

"I will be."

She frowned, a sign of whether she should inquire the meaning of his response or leave it be. Thankfully, she chose the latter and hefted the heavy box in her hands. "Here are the rations you requested for Ms. Noin. There's enough in here for a week, including water. She was in pretty bad shape when she got here, so I asked the medics to check on her. I also want to inform you that we're conducting a personnel count."

"To determine how many have left?"

"It's more to determine everyone's specialties so we could get ourselves stabilized faster. We don't want to be caught unaware again, that's all."

This was not good news per se, but it was far from negative. In fact, this was better than most reports he'd received recently and he nodded approval. "I want the medics to keep me updated on the Ensign's condition. I would like to give her ample time to recover, but unfortunately that may not be possible. I also want the personnel numbers as soon as possible. There'll be a need for heavy reconnaissance in the immediate future; only those with the best possible training will do."

"I'll get on it right away. Is there anything I can get you Sir?"

"No. This is fine for now."

"I'm on duty all day, today. Please, let me know if you need anything else."

The box changed hands, and they went their separate ways. Saying that Noin was in 'bad shape' was an understatement. She was exhausted, battered and dreadfully emaciated. Treize was sure she felt somewhat unnerved by his constant eye contact; he was desperately trying not to stare in shock and dismay at her severely weakened frame. She'd gone from toned and lithe to utterly frail. She'd gone from prideful to defeat. Would she be able to function without injuring herself? Would she remain this way: quiet, sullen and depressed forever? Surely fragments of her old self would resurface, but she would never be the same. Not while her students rested both in Africa and in the fore of her mind. Not while memories of her travels haunted her, and he was certain they did. Everyone within these walls had their own nightmares to deal with. Treize was no different.

The box was set on the floor and he knocked gently, opening the door to only a fraction and given the word to enter.

"Are you decent?"

"Depends on what you mean by "decent"."

The answer made him frown in the same manner as the previous young lady, as he retrieved the box and stepped within. She was pulling at the sleeves of an olive wool sweater when she paused and raised her tired violet eyes to the oversized parcel. "...Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes." He knew the question was pointless, with the answer literally staring back at him. Yet he could not resist the desire to ask. "How are you feeling?"

"…I suppose I'm alright." She breathed deeply. "I should be dead, after all. Traveling from one continent to the next on foot was no easy task."

"Of course it wasn't. Needless to say, seeing you here alive and well for the most part has put me at ease." The box was placed on the small table. "The medics will be here to tend to you later. These rations are enough for a week."

"I'll deal with the box."

"You need to rest—"

"I need to keep myself **occupied**. If I don't, I'll go mad from thinking too much."

Before Treize could protest further, she was at his side and pulling at the flaps. He stood back and watched her in silence as she emptied the box's contents. He could only fathom what she went through to get here. There were many dangers out there, from the elements to thieves. The fact that she survived them all puzzled him; then again, he knew her well. At least, well enough that she would not allow anything—not even a falling colony—stop her from whatever goal she set for herself. If it meant walking from one continent to the next, so be it. He was curious if she encountered Miliardo on her journey, but knew deep down the answer would be "no". If the former classmates had indeed crossed paths, he would have arrived with her.

_Wherever you are, you must survive._

"Treize?"

"Yes?"

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing, just…" He decided not to discuss the trials she endured, or her physical condition. Seeing her in this state troubled him immensely, and it was a chilling reminder of what he faced stranded in the woods during the first weeks after The Fall. The fact that the same fate fell on one of his most loyal soldiers tore at him deeply. He pasted on a thin smile and initiated a hasty exit. "It's been years since I last saw you. I can only imagine the horrors you had to witness during your travels here. …I'm merely glad that you're safe. You should try to rest."

Once Treize pulled the door behind him, he stood alone in the hallway and mentally blasted himself. Not only was he failing the soldiers in his charge, but he failed one of his very few colleagues. He'd been repeatedly told that The Fall was by no means his fault, nor were the deaths that followed. Mass casualties were expected; as a soldier he knew that and came to terms with it long before the colonies fell on their heads. But just as Noin felt responsible for the lives of her students, he felt equally responsible for the soldiers that died in the aftermath. Even now, as he struggled to establish and maintain a semblance of order with the few hundred personnel that remained, he could not help but feel utterly powerless.

_Barton, I hope you're satisfied. But enjoy your stolen victory. _He narrowed his eyes at the battered carpet. _Because just as __**we**__ suffer, so will __**you**__. And if I ever have my way of it, I will see to your suffering __**personally**__._

"Sir, I have news from the Colonel! It's urgent!" He looked to the soldiers who thundered towards him and staggered to a stop. They were positively restless and looking quite agitated.

"What happened?"

"We have sighting of a group not far from here, Sir."

"Are they hostile?"

"We don't know; we've just sent the scouts out to confirm. It looks like they have mobile suits with them."

Treize turned to the closest window and frowned heavily. Daylight was fading quickly, and there were not enough pilots to man the Leos down below. He and Une would have to go out and defend the compound; a last ditch effort, IF these groups have mobile suits and IF they become aggressive. But that was a worst case scenario. He needed more information; he needed to know why a dozen people were heavily armed and sprinting across the open field.

"Where's the Colonel—"

Shouting and gunfire from beyond the walls cut him off, and had him leaving the handful of soldiers behind in the hallway.

******************

*Moon Base*

"Sir, the first round of shipments has arrived safely on earth."

Dekim reclined in his favorite chair, a piano playing softly in the background as he nursed a snifter of brandy. Mariemaia sat on the sofa, her eyes fixed on the book in her lap.

"Have the people accepted them?"

"Yes, with the exception of three small clusters."

"Three? Ah--I've nearly forgotten about the other two." He waved his free hand in a gesture of dismissal. "It does not matter. The people have chosen their livelihood over the leadership of the dismantled military factions. Soon, even they will have to follow suit. How goes the next phase in our operation?

"Everything is going according to plan, Sir. The Gundams will be ready to deploy within the next twelve hours. Their main goal is to serve as enforcers, while agents implant themselves and pose as members of OZ and the Alliance and antagonize the populace. With no one on earth to turn to, they will have no choice but to look to the Colonies for protection."

Dekim smiled thinly. "Did you hear that Mariemaia? The people will voice their disapproval and flock to us like sheep to a shepherd. And one day, they will flock to **you**. What do you think of that?"

She did not raise her eyes from the book. "...Splendid, grandfather. I would like nothing more than to play minstrel to the remnants of humanity until the day comes, where they learn the truth and oust me from my position one way or another.

"You don't sound pleased."

"Why should I be pleased? From what I understand, my father is no fool. No doubt he's already taken notice of the propaganda we're using, and will find any way to prove that it is, indeed propaganda." She turned a page. "Once he gathers the means to pull the proverbial wool from the eyes of the people, they too will see that your plan of "peace" and "solidarity" with the earth is nothing but a farce. Even if he were to die in the process, his influence will continue to drive their rebellion against the Federation. Though sound, your strategy is quite prone to failure grandfather. If you wish to really rule over the earth, you will have to dispose of all those with his level of influence. Dangling your drug-laced supplies just out of the reach of the people and scaring the loyalty out of them is going to fail you in the long run."

"...You're right. He is a conniving one, your father."

Mariemaia snorted and turned another page. "And we're any different? We're no better than he is, if we're resorting to not only scare tactics but drugging their supplies to make the people docile. In fact, that makes us a great deal worse."

"You should not be so negative about our agenda. As with anything else, our plans need time to be fruitful. You'll see. …It's late. Off to bed with you. Sleep well."

A gentle sigh of nonchalance filled the air, followed by a soft 'thump' as she closed her book. She slid from the sofa and stalked out of the room, her eyes hooded with fatigue or thinly veiled annoyance. Dekim was certain it was the latter.

The girl was very bright for her age. She was correct in that his plans would not be completely successful as they were. Though destitute, the people were not entirely foolish. She was also correct about her father being an obstacle. He knew from experience the man could talk anyone into doing as he pleased. After all, he talked Leia into courtship—and against her better judgment she followed him until her death by "unspecified causes". Now all that was left of Leia was Mariemaia, and the girl was more obstinate than her mother. While that could be dealt with, it was damn near infuriating that she also inherited her father's personality, charisma, and intelligence. She was too smart for her own good.

And if she was continued to be left to her own devices, she would grow to be as troublesome as her father.

"I want you to watch the girl carefully. Report all her activities to me."

"Yes Sir."

*****************

Thank you for reading! If you haven't already, please leave a review. Thanks again!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Author's Note: This is an AU fic where the "original" Operation Meteor (Dekim Barton's plot to drop colonies on the earth) is a success, and Treize finds himself as the only military official left that's capable of picking up the pieces. But of course, it's not that simple. There will be foul language, murder, and some OOC behavior due to the nature of the setting and the plot.

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Chapter 4

*Outside Luxembourg*

"Who are they, and where are they from?"

"They could be anyone, ma'am. With this heavy fog, I doubt they can see us any better than we can see them."

"Then if they can't **see** us, why are they about to **shoot** at us?"

"Can we blame them for not taking any chances?"

_Of course we can't--we have three Leos with us_. Sally Po snapped to herself as she heard gunfire erupt, and watched as casualty was dragged past her. With the Alliance completely disintegrated and their leaders either dead or missing, Sally took on the task of leading her motley crew of soldiers and civilians to Luxembourg. Having refused the "aid" from the colonies, they survived the last two years by skulking in the lower levels of a former Alliance supply base. Once their rations were only enough for three months, they made the two month journey. They were extremely fortunate to be so close; any further and they would surely have died by now. Yet, their good fortune was countered with frustration as they were being fired on by whoever was ahead of them. Whether they were armed cannibals or remnants of OZ was still questionable. Sally frowned heavily as three soldiers trotted up to her. She was hoping for some level of good news, but braced for the opposite.

"What did you find?"

"Its OZ headquarters, ma'am! We tried to make contact with them, but the gunfire is to heavy! They think we're hostile!"

_Naturally they would think that way_. Sally had to bite her tongue as she heard the wail of another being cut down by the hail of bullets. _But cannibals or not, this is becoming excessive. We're half dead as it is. There's no need to push that envelope any further_. "I want those Leos laid flat. Send a message to whoever's in charge: we're low on supplies and stress the fact that we're non-hostile. We only need shelter for the next three days and then we're gone. Hurry up--before they murder the rest of us!"

**************************

Treize stormed through the halls until he finally found Une standing in the foyer, the heavy double doors open with the open field in clear view. She must have sensed his arrival; her head snapped in his direction with a look of pure concern. He cut her off just as she opened her mouth to speak, and as three people--one injured and the other two providing support staggered past him. At that moment, he knew this was going to be another battle to maintain his already fragile composure.

"Who are they and are they returning fire?"

"Yes, but it's minimal. The fog's too heavy to confirm their allegiance, and they probably can't tell who **we** are either. They also have mobile suits with them, which is why I had a group go out and subdue them."

"That explains the mob charging into the grassy knoll." Treize cut Une a brief frown. She caught his hint at her failure to keep him informed and nodded mildly. "However, the amount of ammunition being spent is completely unnecessary if we don't know who they are or what they want. Find out if they're hostile. Immediately. If they are, I want them all dead by nightfall. No survivors."

"And the mobile suits--"

"Send out the best pilots we have and destroy them. No need point in making ourselves more vulnerable by leaving them intact."

"Yessir!"

As Une made her way outside and started shouting orders, Treize found himself scowling into the fog. Not even the cannibals were foolish enough to consider approaching this place. They learned very early on that **his** band of soldiers were **not** to be trifled with. But who was **this** particular group? Who were these individuals to be so brazen to hold a stand off on which was, and had essentially become **his** territory?

_This could be a ploy by Barton. After all, he does hold all the cards in this game he started. It could an ambush by some motley crew of lunatics hoping to make a name for them._ The scowl deepened. _Who ever this is, they'd better have damned good explanation for this._

The gunfire came to a halt. Flashlights sprung to life and waved about frantically in the combined fog and sudden darkness. Voices filled the silence and the stampede of boots, while on soft ground seemed to rumble in his ears. Une and a handful of others emerged: all wore expressions that lie between disbelief and frustration.

"What's happened??"

"We've met with soldiers from the other side. They claim they're from the Alliance, Sir."

"Everyone knows that the Alliance no longer **exists**, Une." he narrowed his eyes. "Their claim is a futile one, wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded slowly, cutting her eyes to the ground briefly. "I agree wholeheartedly--we even told them as such, but they insist. They also insist that they're non-hostile and that a Major Sally Po is with them."

"I've heard the name, but she's rumored to be **dead**. Just like the rest of her collective."

"Sir, everything you're saying is perfectly logical." Her own disbelief was becoming more and more evident on her weary face. "However, they're saying this woman brought them here because they're low on supplies and need shelter."

"For how long?"

"Three days. According to them, we're the closest group of people they could reach without dying in the process."

As if Barton looming over his head, Lucrezia's physical condition and lack of information on Miliardo's whereabouts were not enough. Now, he had to contend with so-called loyalists of the Alliance with mobile suits in tow. So-called loyalists led by Sally Po--who was rumored to be deceased, along with the rest of the Alliance. This group wanted three days of asylum; had they been unarmed, without mobile suits, and **did not** return any level of gunfire there was no doubt in his mind Une would have handled this situation differently. Yet, every person standing at this foyer knew all too well what could happen in three days. Not even three seconds were necessary to turn a neutral disposition into an utter disaster.

These people could not be trusted.

"Bring in the person who claims to be Sally Po. If what she says is true, then we'll grant them **one day** of asylum."

"Sir is this--"

"**No**. This is **not** is wise. In fact, this is leaning towards **madness**." Treize rolled his eyes. "But I'd rather have **one** person in this building rather than whatever number of people is in this woman's charge. I will **not** give random strangers the opportunity to give us more grief than we have now. If she's telling the truth, they receive **twenty four** **hours** of asylum under heavy guard--no more than that." He turned to walk off. "If she's lying...you know what to do."

"Yes Sir."

As he retreated within, Treize found himself shaking his head in aggravation. Burden after burden was falling on his shoulders, faster than he could attempt to manage them. He dared not contest what was beyond his immediate control. However, this brand new incident did not merely give him a new source of frustration. This ambush by so-called members of the old Alliance was starting to unravel his patience, thread by thread.

Whether or not his sanity would unravel as well was another story altogether.

*****************************

* Moon Base*

The monitor flickered in the darkness, blasting Mariemaia's shadow on the walls behind her. She preferred human interaction to communicating with computers and satellites. Especially with the likes of these paranoid developers, always hiding their faces behind a screen of static. They should be more eager to stop her grandfather, not hide from him.

"You do not understand the risks you're taking child."

"I fully understand the risks I'm taking." Mariemaia shook her head. "My grandfather is too concerned with totalitarian rule. He wants to enslave the earth; he practically has, with his food and supply shipments to the desperate clusters of survivors. They've bought into the lies and are frightened out of even the mere thought of rebellion. The only people refusing them are those who have the ability--albeit limited--to stand up to him. **Those** are the people we need to reach. Are "they" ready to be deployed yet?"

"Yes, they are. However, we've encountered one minor problem."

She raised a single eyebrow. "And that is...?"

"Your uncle. Our agent cannot commandeer his mobile suit unless he's removed one way or another."

"Getting him away from Heavyarms **has** been a trial, more so now that he's been ordered to the earth to squash the "rebellion". No doubt to execute any remaining military officials under the guise of acting in the people's best interests. I suppose murdering the colonial delegates who opposed his Operation Meteor wasn't enough." She smiled thinly and reclined into her seat. "But, that's alright. He hasn't seen me in months. I'm sure a visit from his favorite and only niece will be enough of a distraction. It'll at least delay his departure."

"Your grandfather might become suspicious."

"Grandfather is willing to overlook a minor delay provided that Trowa does as he's told—or, as long as it "appears" that way once our agent is in position."

"I meant that he'll become suspicious of **you**."

"Dr. J, I'm ten. **Of course** he'd become suspicious." She gave a shrug of nonchalance. "Regardless, his plans to control the earth have been all but disastrous to date. Throwing the survivors bones in the form of supplies and food to draw them in, will keep the tide in his favor but for so long. With my father, Marx and the Peacecraft running about, the people will eventually come to know the truth. They'll turn on the Colonial Federation and I refuse to be the one they turn on. We must bring the truth to light sooner, and start the decline of the Colonial Federation." Her smile widened. "Besides, the scales **do **need to be balanced. Who better to do it than Kushrenada's bastard child, emerging from the ether?"

"I doubt he knows you exist."

"He doesn't. But he will soon enough."

"Little girls should be playing with dolls, not instigating political intrigue."

"And little girls **should not **be used for another's political benefit. I refuse to be the marionette while my grandfather pulls my strings and then tosses me aside when he's through. Furthermore, **I** am no "little girl". Not after all I've been through." She paused, and drew in a deep breath to calm herself. "…With **that** being said, have them ready for deployment at a moment's notice. I will take care of my uncle."

"And should he or anyone else catch wind of our little plot?"

Mariemaia narrowed her eyes at the screen.

"We cannot allow anything or anyone to jeopardize our plans, regardless of their affiliations. We will remove him and anyone who chooses to intervene from the equation. Permanently."

"You have the makings of a tyrant in you."

"My father is no tyrant, so keep your insults to a stark minimum. We'll proceed according to plan."

The monitor died and she was left in the darkness. It was not easy to win the trust of these shrewd scientists. They hardly trusted themselves with their own lives, let alone a ten year old girl bent on preventing the enslavement of a planet she had never set foot on. Her mother had never been to earth, and neither had she. Yet, Mariemaia felt driven to threw the proverbial wrench into her grandfather's plans. Not to be like the father she never knew, and not because she felt her mother would have wanted her to intervene. Not even to play at politics: she was all too aware of the world, too knowledgeable of the subject to allow herself to be so naive. But if she had to become the sole individual to stand between the earth's stricken populace and the approaching slaughter, then so be it. This "example" being made of the earth had gone on long enough.

_The earth-bound factions would not have played at war with the Colonies unless they were provoked. Grandfather knew this, and sought to render them incapable of defending themselves. Instead, he brought the seat of all humanity to its knees and leads them along as you would a horse with a carrot held just beyond its mouth. The earth cannot fight back, but there are those who are still willing to resist. The Colonial Federation seeks to rule the earth sphere; but I, Mariemaia Kushrenada, will not let them. Humanity has the right to choose their fate for themselves, not be forced by another's hand_. She folded her arms and nodded gently to herself.

_If father knew I existed, no doubt he would be proud._

*******************

** Author's Note: In this chapter, the "Uncle Trowa" Mariemaia is referring to is Dekim Barton's son; the original Trowa Barton and pilot of Gundam Heavyarms. It is NOT "No Name", who takes Trowa's place and name as shown in the Gundam Wing canon.

*******************

Thanks for reading! If you haven't already, please leave a review. Thanks again!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Author's Note: This is an AU fic where the "original" Operation Meteor (Dekim Barton's plot to drop colonies on the earth) is a success, and Treize finds himself as the only military official left that's capable of picking up the pieces. But of course, it's not that simple.

*****************************

Chapter 5

*Luxembourg*

Noin sat quietly on her cot, her head resting on folded hands. She heard the gunfire, which was immediately followed by Treize shouting orders and Une barking at anyone who did not obey in a timely fashion. Once upon a time, she would be laying waste to anyone foolish enough to challenge him. Once upon a time, she would be instructing others to do the same.

But those times were over.

Noin's physical condition: frail, exhausted, and dreadfully thin prevented her from lending her talents to the immediate cause of safeguarding the remains of her once proud faction. Noin was fully aware that she was a liability. Her weak frame would fail her in the cockpit of a mobile suit. She'd become a casualty. She had to remind herself that she did not lose over a thousand students just to die. She did not traverse three continents to come here to join the numbers of the deceased. And Treize made it abundantly clear that he would not allow her to die, by any means.

Furthermore, Miliardo was still no where to be found. She lost track of him shortly before 'The Fall'. He had taken a group of 20 with him to complete a mission somewhere east of Luxembourg. Meanwhile, the skeleton of a relatively new colony fell several miles east of Lake Victoria. The blast from the impact incinerated the lake and surrounding area. The shockwave leveled everything else within a 500 mile radius. Noin and her students retreated to the underground hangars several miles below ground shortly before impact. When they surfaced, the world was bleak, alien, and for the most part dead. Establishing communications with anyone was virtually impossible--the falling Colonies destroyed any and all satellites in their path. Even base-level communications were disrupted. And to add insult to injury, Noin and her students were caught just within the blast zone and with hardly enough supplies to survive the journey away from ground zero. Several months later she found herself, **by** herself, dragging her feet along the barren Sahara Desert. Though there was no sunlight to beat down on her, the knowledge of losing every single student was more torturous than any extreme temperature. She was all too fortunate to make her way to Headquarters and find Treize alive. Yet, the fact that Miliardo was still nowhere to be found troubled her immensely.

And it continued to trouble her as she heard the gunfire cease and Treize snarl something about Sally Po being dead. Or at least, she was reported as such. Noin shook her head slowly. Not even death was a certainty in this newly stricken era.

_I can't think negatively. He's out there. He's still alive. If he survived Sanc then he can--no. Sanc was different. Watching a castle burn down is nothing compared to watching an entire colony fall on your head_. She reached for the bottle of water sitting on the table. She snapped the cap from the mouth and sighed heavily. _There has to be something I can do, so I won't go mad just sitting here._

Getting Treize to hear her out was not an issue; it just was not possible at the moment, with his trying to diffuse what sounded like a potentially foul situation. Une was off carrying out his orders and delegating new ones. Everyone else was entangled in whatever needed to be done. If she hoped to make herself useful at all, she would have to do it on her own. She returned the open bottle to its place on the table and left the small room. She ignored the low gasps, whispers and wide eyed stares as she made her way through the building. A soldier barely out of his teens stepped in her path.

"Ma'am, you shouldn't strain yourself. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Where's the hangar bay?"

"I-It's about a mile down--the elevator to go below is running on a backup generator we're having hell maintaining. I could take you..." he frowned curiously. "Do you want something from there?"

Noin nodded slowly, almost absently as plan after plan slowly started to formulate. "...Gather the novices: training starts in twenty minutes."

**************************************

*Countryside*

Miliardo frowned heavily as he turned on his side. Most of the night was spent tossing and turning, littered with occasional moments of deep sleep only to snap awake again. His inability to sleep was due in part to paranoia: there was no telling who or what would appear and when. The other part was the nightmares that kept him from any amount of restful sleep. Having to watch Sanc burn every night since the attacks on his small kingdom was more than enough. Watching a colony hurtle towards him as well had been whittling away at his sanity. It also kept him wide awake for days at a time, with dark circles around his pale blue eyes. Realizing that sleep would evade him again tonight, Miliardo sat up and stalked towards the window.

There was nothing but darkness beyond the cracked glass. Consuming and endless darkness. The watch walked gently out of respect of those who slept, or at least tried to sleep. The only sound was a low rumble in a distance. The darkness was disturbed by occasional flicks of light. Someone complained the rains were coming, and Miliardo believed it. The blanket of clouds had become denser over the last few days and churned across the skies with a measure of speed. The distant rumble of thunder could be heard.

Yet even with the approach of a storm, thunder was **never** constant. Nor did it increase in volume.

"Sir!" The door swung open and Chandler bounded into the room. "Sir, we have to take cover! **Now**!"

"What's happening?"

"Undesired visitors."

He barely caught the sight of headlights as she practically dragged him through the estate, scurrying under windows and past open doors to avoid being seen. The rumble of the engine was almost deafening. Shouting could be heard.

"Who or what are they Chandler??"

"Could be marauders!" she breathed as they bolted down the stairs and through the door. It was slammed shut; she and two others started to barricade the door with anything that was heavy and stable. "Marauders--possibly cannibals. Scouts spotted them about two miles out. That's a sizeable truck with them, and they're armed!"

"Were we followed??"

"Not likely. They look as if they've stumbled here like we did!"

"How many of them are there?" Chandler was frantic, shoving blankets into any gaps to prevent the dim light from escaping. Miliardo grabbed her by the shoulders. "How many!?"

"I don't know!" she snapped as she shook her head. "Does it matter? If they find us, they'll kill us anyway!"

"Where's Otto?" The weak color in Chandler's face drained completely. She seemed to shrink under the weight of the question. "Where **is** he Chandler? Answer me!"

"He went outside..."

"Why didn't anyone tell me--" The sound of heavy boots above them cut him off, followed by the shout to "spread out". Though Otto's safety was his main concern, Miliardo decided it would have to wait. He knew Otto well; he could fend for himself. He waved everyone away from the makeshift barricade and hissed for silence. Chandler crouched next to him with both their weapons in hand. He took his weapon and racked the round into the chamber. "Keep everyone quiet. No one moves at all. Not until I give the word."

"Sir?" the whisper came not from Chandler but from a boy younger than her. "What's going to happen?"

"That depends. Do you want to live forever?" To the average person during "normal" circumstances, the question would have sounded absurd. It was the question that Chandler asked several times when he and Otto initially found her in the ruins. It was the question he had asked Pagan more than twenty years ago when they were turned away for the umpteenth time after Sanc's sudden fall. He was tired of hearing it and equally tired of answering it. Miliardo finally turned to the boy, who was watching him with expectant eyes. He had to be no older than thirteen, if that. "Do you still trust me?"

"Yes Sir, I do."

"Then what's the problem?" The boy was silent and continued to watch him for several moments. He finally slid a magazine into his rifle and slammed the round into the chamber with an ease that no child should ever have.

"There's no problem, Sir. Ready when you are."

Pain shot briefly through his chest. 'Too young. Just like I was.' "Chandler. Lights off."

"What about Otto?"

"We can't worry about him if we're dead, Chandler. Lights, **off**."

The cellar was immediately bathed in darkness, with the only sound being the intruders walking above their heads.

************************

*Luxembourg*

Sally Po found herself seated--or thrown--into a chair and surrounded by nearly a dozen armed soldiers. They were all drawn, but were still quite capable. They had to be: though it was not her intention, Sally and her group did pose a threat and they responded accordingly. The only reason the crossfire came to an end, was because of five casualties and Sally angrily demanded to see Treize. Then she found herself practically dragged away from her group and unceremoniously dumped into this rather nice chair, in a weather beaten office with a conveniently gaping hole in the wall behind a battered desk. If no one believed Sally even after personally pleading her case, she'd take a brief flight. A flight with an equally brief and painful landing.

_It could be worse. They could've slaughtered us all on the spot._

She did her best to remain still as the door behind her opened and slammed with enough force to shake the office. But she failed at restraining her shock when she saw the former OZ General stalk his way behind the desk with Une close behind him. His hair had grown. He lost weight, but was still well maintained somehow. Scars littered his fair skin, the most noticeable extending from his temple to the base of his jaw. Those once striking blue eyes were dull with stress, and his current disposition was anything but 'pleasant'.

"Before I make any kind of decision, tell me why I should believe a single word you have to say?" His tone was both loud and demanding, with a threat lay clean between the lines. This was not going to be easy.

"Does it look like I have a reason to lie?" Sally said strongly. "I **never** died. The fact that I'm sitting here in front of you should prove that. I also have some twenty people who can attest to that fact!"

He narrowed his eyes thinly and shook his head. He didn't believe her. Nor did anyone else in the room for that matter. "How can I believe **them**? How can I believe **you**? For all I know, you could all be thieves. Cannibals." His voice rose as he spoke. "I should have you and the rest of your friends executed for firing on us, let alone coming here armed with mobile suits! Why on earth should I risk the some three hundred lives in my hands to believe you??"

"You fired on us **first**!"

"With Leos at your heels, you expected a welcoming party?"

"Do you really think two dozen broken soldiers and civilians came here to test some three hundred capable soldiers?? They can hardly make the damn things **walk**! I have deaths of five people on my hands just to sit here and **argue** with you!" She frowned heavily. "I wouldn't have dragged all these people here if I didn't think you'd help us!"

"Why **should** I help you?" he asked flatly. "You have yet to prove your identity to me, and you can't even prove that you're not a thief or cannibal. Therefore, why should I keep you alive when it'd be easier to put you out of your misery?"

"I am not the enemy, Treize. For Chrissake **look around**!" Sally gestured around her. "We're the last handful of sane military officials, and here we are at each other's throats while Barton prepares us for enslavement!"

"We will deal with Barton when the time comes." his scowl deepened. "There are more pressing matters to take care of. Namely, why are you here? And why do you want 72 hours of asylum under MY roof, knowing damn well I'd kill you sooner than trust you!"

"Because you're in the same position as me!"

"**I** am not dragging **my** soldiers around in the woods feigning helplessness!!"

"You may not be AS helpless, but you're still as **powerless** as I am to do anything to Barton the way you are **now**!"

Contact.

The barb went deep--shock registered first, then rage quickly behind it. If he planned on lunging over the desk and throttling her, it was a plan that was cast aside. There was more than enough people in this room to restrain him, and he was aware of it. Instead, he eyed her with a level of animosity that was nearly equal to any physical assault and spoke with a tone to match.

"What would **you **know about being **powerless**!?"

"You're as powerless as I am, and you **know** it!" Sally was out of the chair. They were in each other's faces with the desk serving as the only barrier keeping them from fisticuffs. "You're just as powerless, and your losses are no greater than mine--"

"Woman, you know **nothing** of my losses!" he pounded a fist on the battered desk. "My trail of losses began long before colonies fell, so **do not **come to me with this weak charade of equality! We have nothing in common and we never **will**!"

"Can't you see what Barton is doing? This is exactly what he wants!" The two were shouting at each other now. This was not the Treize Kushrenada Sally had been expecting to deal with, even with this new era's circumstances. Not by a long shot. "Barton is already planting his seeds against us, Treize! He **wants** us to turn on each other, to destroy each other so **he** could have an easier time moving in and ransacking what's left! He **wants** us to fight amongst each other, eliminating any chances of a rebellion against the Federation and their lies! Can't you see that?"

He snorted irritably. "I'm **fully** aware of that. However, what does his propaganda have to do with convincing **me** to spare you and the rest of your number? How does that help me **trust** you?"

Sally shook her head disdainfully. "Have the times changed you **that** much, General? Have the times made you such a bastard that you can't even trust a fellow commissioned officer?"

"Stalin said: "Trust no one; not even yourself.""

It took every fiber of her being not to ram her fist into either of his eyes. Yet, Sally could not find the energy to blame him for his anger. However unintentional, she and her group posed a threat to him and the people in his charge. His desperation to safeguard them all was well hidden, despite the short lapse of control over his temper. Regardless, this shouting match was getting nowhere; she could smell the rains through the open wall, hear the thunder rolling in behind the churning clouds. She had one final trump card. _Be damned if this doesn't get me killed._

"I hear Lieutenant Merquise is still missing."

"What of it!" He sounded weary. "And what do you care? He's not your concern."

"I can help you find him."

"Did you not say you were powerless as well?"

"I may be powerless against Barton, but like I said before: I'm not your enemy." Sally folded her arms. "Merquise has been missing since The Fall. When I **had** Intel reports, they stated he was on some sort of assignment due east of here."

"Get to the point."

"My point is this: let me find Merquise." The room shifted. It was not in her favor, but at this stage, Sally didn't care. She said what she needed to say. "We traveled from the east before arriving here. If he's truly on his way here and coming from the same direction, I'll find him and bring him here. That, will confirm my identity as Sally Po and you **will** spare me and my group."

"And if you don't?"

"Then our fate is yours to decide."

Treize raised a single eyebrow. "This is quite a gamble. You're more likely to find yourself dead than finding Merquise alive."

"It's a gamble I'm confident in." This debacle of a negotiation left her unnecessarily tired; she needed air, no matter how filthy. She needed to **breathe** and she couldn't do it in this enclave of bitter frustration and exhaustion. "Look, we've both had enough excitement for one day. More than we need. I'll leave...and I apologize for causing trouble."

She stepped away from the desk and pushed her way through the line of soldiers. This confrontation hardly went the way she'd hope, but that had been the way of things since the colonies fell. Nothing went the way they should. Regardless, Sally had already decided that she would bring back Merquise; even if he turned her away after the fact.

"Sally."

She stopped mid-stride, turning to see Treize standing in the middle of the hall. He seemed more intimidating while they were shouting each other down. Now, she saw that they were exactly alike: exhausted. Dreadfully exhausted.

He reached into the pocket of his cargo pants, and gazed at the item in his hand thoughtfully. He then tossed it to Sally who snatched it out of the air. _A pocket watch??_

"If you find him alive, give that to him."

Sally frowned lightly. "Why not give this to him yourself when I bring him back?"

"Because if he's still alive and anymore sane that **we** are, he's not going to believe that you've met with me at all." He nodded at the watch. "If he sees that, he'll at least take your word at face value. It'll be better than being shot down outright. ...Or worse, depending on what his newfound temperament will be."

The item went into her own pocket, and she turned to walk off. "I'll keep that in mind."

"One more thing."

Impatient, she only gave him half a gaze and took note of the renewed scowl from earlier.

"That man, is like a **brother** to me. He's **family**. If you so much as--"

"There's **nothing** I could possibly do to him that he hasn't already suffered." Sally snapped. "I don't know him personally of course, I but know **all** about Sanc. **No** child should have to suffer a tragedy of that scale. Nor should they have to carry that memory with them for the rest of their lives, especially after having to live with the sight of a colony falling on their head. I will bring him here, **as he is** when I find him. ...If he dies, it will **not** by my hand. You have my word on that."

Sally was expecting Treize to have more to say about finding his missing friend. Instead, he shook his head slightly and heaved a sigh that seemed to hang on the borders of disbelief and denial. He waved her onward. "72 hours. That's all you have."

"It's all I'll need."

He continued to watch her for several moments, before turning his gaze to the floor. He muttered something to himself and stalked off from whence he came. As Sally made her way through the building and into the open field, she found she heard his words clearly and more than intended. She soon herself in agreement with the former General's mumblings and put a hand to her forehead in a gesture that was incredulous.

_I must be out of my goddamned mind._

*******************

Thanks for reading! If you haven't already, please leave a review. Thanks again!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Author's Note: This is an AU fic where the "original" Operation Meteor (Dekim Barton's plot to drop colonies on the earth) is a success, and Treize finds himself as the only military official left that's capable of picking up the pieces. But of course, it's not that simple.

**********************

Chapter 6

*Amazon, South America*

Schala sat on a fallen log, quietly sipping water from a tin cup as she watched the adults open another crate that arrived shortly after the first. Unlike the previous delivery that carried food, this one carried weapons. Most of them were rifles. One of them was a "Desert Eagle" that her father held to the gray clouds in an attempt to catch some sort of light on its casing. Her mother wasn't happy with the idea of the Colonies delivering guns, but her father said it was necessary if they wanted to keep the nearby cannibals at bay. Schala just thought it was entertaining to watch the adults handle the weapons as if they were new toys.

"Schala, you should go stay with your mother. We don't want you around when we start firing these things."

"But Mom asked me to make sure you won't put your eye out."

Her father smiled at her, and placed a hand on her shoulder--he was dismissing her. "Tell your mother I **and** my eye will be fine."

"Do we really need these guns?"

"Yes, we do. It's for protection." Schala found herself hoisted from her seat and her feet planted on the ground. "Now, go stay with your mother. I'll be along in a couple of hours."

She frowned in protest, but complied and left the area. Even after some distance between her and the adults, she heard the gunshots and their impacts in the dead trees. One of them sounded like an explosion; curses and whistles were followed by laughter and mild cheering.

_Something...isn't right about this._

Schala looked up to see the weak disc of light taunting her from behind the sheet of clouds. A black object rumbled past--another helicopter, but this one was not carrying a large crate at all. It seemed to move slowly, almost at a hover above their meager campsite. _Are they spying on us?_

For a long time craft lingered above her, lowering and stopping at a still distant position when another explosion shook the decayed jungle floor. It then rose into the sky and roared away.

_What was that about?_

Schala wanted to ask her father, wondering if he'd taken notice. But judging by the sound of things, he was having too good of a time with his "protection". Another colony might fall and he wouldn't notice. She decided she would find other things to do other than be ignored again. She'd ask her mother if she could help prepare their next meal. Or get the other two children to try and make something the camp could use.

She could also figure out why the world was suddenly ten different bright colors and swaying gently to a breeze that wasn't there.

**********************

*Moon Base*

"It's good to see you again Uncle Trowa!"

Mariemaia wore a smile as she trotted up to her uncle and threw her arms about his waist.

"What are you eating?? You're half as tall as **me** now!" Trowa tried to hoist her into the air but was met with a mild frown of resistance. "What? You don't like being picked up anymore?"

"I'm too old for that; I'll be eleven next month."

"Oh, that's right. So you're a grown woman now, is that it?" His sarcasm was met with a roll of the eyes and a wider smile. Mariemaia adored her uncle greatly; while her grandfather sought to mold her into a politician, Trowa doted on her to no end. Arguments between the two men over her well being were common. Unfortunately, her loving uncle was in the way of her plans and had to be removed. "What are you doing here? You know your grandfather doesn't want you in the hangars."

"He only complains if I'm supposed to be with the tutors, and they're in the colonies right now." They were actually restrained and on the verge of being thrown from a non-descript air lock--if they weren't already--by sympathizers of the underlying plot, devised by herself and the rebel scientists. The badgering old women had grown too nosey for her liking, and Mariemaia was tired of dealing with them anyway. She offered a light shrug played up her facade of innocence. "I haven't seen you for a while. So when I heard you were here, I came to see you before you left for your next assignment."

"So you know about that, huh?" Trowa tilted his head lightly. "You're just like Leia; nothing got past her, either. She'd probably hang me for this so-called assignment if she was still here."

"What exactly are you going to do?"

"I don't know if I can explain this to you. But...you're bright. You understand. There are some people on earth Father wants me to get rid of. Something about an uprising on the horizon." Mariemaia watched her uncle's face darken with doubt. "I can only wonder why he'd want me to take care of a pack of destitute soldiers and civilians. Without ample manpower, weapons or support they're incapable of staging any level of rebellion. They'd be throwing pebbles into an ocean, so to speak; no ripples, no waves, just a trip straight to the bottom. It'd be easier and safer if they'd just join the Federation. No need to waste your time or your life for a dead planet."

_It's not a waste if it's all you have. It's no different from protecting someone dear to you._ _Trowa, you're a fool_. "If that's the case, why does he want you to do such a thing?"

"That's how politicians are, Marie. Nothing will ever be enough, not even reducing the earth to ashes or keeping its people on a tight leash." He patted her head affectionately."But this is between the two of us. Don't let your grandfather know I'm having second thoughts. Your mother will have my hide if I left you alone."

_Being silent is the best course of action. Unfortunately...you're a threat to my plans and Silence won't be able to spare you._ "Why don't we go for a walk? You still have a lot of time before you leave, and there's a lot I want to talk to you about."

Trowa nodded and led her out of the hangar. "Sounds like a plan. Let's go the mess hall--I want to have my last decent meal before I go to earth."

"You're insatiable."

"You would be to if you were carrying out someone else's tyrannical agenda."

**************************

*Luxembourg*

"I must be out of my goddamned mind."

"Do you believe her at all, Sir?"

"...To some extent." Treize muttered as he leaned against the wall beside the gaping hole with folded arms. Moments before Une found him, he was silently contemplating the level of his sanity--or lack of it, for giving Sally the only remaining fragment of evidence that either he **or** Miliardo ever existed. "She is who she says she is; she has little to gain by lying, and we have little to offer regardless. However, I can't trust her. Not while she's armed with a handful of Leos. I'll have to play the enemy for now, until she brings back Merquise."

"But she can see through your ruse."

"It was hardly a ruse Une, and Sally knew that." Treize shook his head. "She had to--she wouldn't have taken a stab at me personally if she didn't, nor would she have brought up finding Merquise."

"Then why did she attack you--"

"I'm not as slow to anger as most have thought in the past. These troubled times have only eroded what patience I developed. She did what any other person would have done, had they known. She intentionally made me angry in order to open an opportunity for her. Unfortunately, her attacks on my past only made matters worse." Treize snorted in weak amusement. "Now, not only do I have to maintain distance with her, I have to restrain myself from throttling her for assuming my losses and failures took precedence over everyone else's. ...I also have to take her for her word on finding Miliardo in 72 hours, regardless if he's dead or alive, regardless if she herself ends up dead in the process."

"So you're going to let her go after him, with no sort of assistance?"

"I'll admit I had little interest in helping her to begin with. Yet, judging by how we've insulted each other she would have refused it. She won't give me the satisfaction of failure, not while she's gambling with her life and Miliardo's." Treize raised an eyebrow. "Why? Do you believe her, Une?"

She frowned and turned her head to the carpet, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Treize kept his gaze focused on the outside, but sensed the Colonel's unease.

"...Yes. I do believe her." Had The Fall never happened, Une would have vehemently denied any belief in Sally's story and strongly suggest an execution. That fateful day in A.C. 194 and the events that followed had humbled the once aggressive and temperamental Colonel greatly. She shook her head slowly. "But I doubt she can find Merquise without some sort of aid, Sir. Lack of reliable technology withstanding, it'd be like coming a desert for a strand of hair. Sally has little chance of finding him with the Federation on one side of her and raving lunatics on the other."

Treize nodded lightly. "You're absolutely right. ...Take an armed group of five with you; find her before she gets far and leave them with her. They'll be of more assistance than any of the civilians in her group, and they're loyal to Merquise. If she should die for whatever reason, they'll continue the search."

"Do you have anything to tell her?"

"Anything I could possibly say to her now would only fall on deaf ears. And quite honestly, I don't blame her." Treize frowned as the argument replayed itself; but the increasingly troubled look on his face was the result of an internal scolding. "I heard every word she said about Barton and his plans for us; all I did was goad her into a search that's more likely to kill her and all involved. Had I been in her position, I would have felt the same way she did. I would have reacted the way she did. And I do not blame her at all for it."

"You did nothing wrong--"

"I ignored the truth out of anger, Une. That's what I did wrong!" he snapped, then paused to calm himself. Small wonder he fell into a shouting match with Sally; he had no patience to start with when she arrived. Then there was Lucrezia's physical condition to look into, the report he requested just before speaking to her and a slew of other problems/situations/inquiries that screamed for his attention--all happening in the span of less than a day, one after the other. He had no time to recoup or decompress. But after all the seemingly endless madness, there was one concern that he could cast aside for the moment.

_If Miliardo is already en route as earlier reports stated, then he and Sally will eventually cross paths. He'd receive the watch. He'd know for certain that I'm alive and expedite the journey here. And if anything happened to Sally, Miliardo could definitely fend for himself._

It was the first of countless issues that needed a resolution, and it was a resolution Treize found a measure of relief in. He decided to seize the moment and give himself some sorely needed time alone. He needed to settle his frayed nerves after the impromptu argument with Sally, and gather what remained his wits before he lost them entirely. He needed to function with a reasonably clear head, and his current state was not ideal at any level. He waved Une onward and made his way out of the office.

"Find her before it gets dark. Once you've left the soldiers with her, I want you to report back immediately."

"Where are you going...?"

"To my room; I'm exhausted, and no one will miss me if I sleep for a few hours."

************************

*Countryside*

His heart threatened to blast through his chest as he sat quietly next to the barricaded door in the darkness, clutching his weapon in a white-knuckled grip. Chandler sat next to him, holding her own weapon in her hands. Others were crouched in the near abysmal dark among the various boxes and furniture. There was a loud "thud" that earned brief gasp, but not a sound was made otherwise. The heavy footsteps resumed and rose steadily in volume, tripling the tension and making it difficult to be still. Voices--one male and one female--were muffled by the brick walls, but were clear enough to be heard.

"What do those stairs lead to?"

"Probably another empty cellar."

"Maybe the cellar isn't empty. Maybe we should take a look."

Miliardo swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes. He was hoping a fight would be avoided. But judging by the soft clicks of rifles being armed around him, it was clear that a battle was likely. _Might as well die fighting. Be damned if we have to die like dogs out here. _

"Think we'll find anything useful this time?"

"We won't know until we go in there. Besides, maybe we'll get lucky this time; we're down to one box of food since we've been gone, and we've been at that base for months!"

Miliardo and Chandler cut each other a look of disbelief in the darkness.

"Tell me about it! You'd think they'd drop us some supplies by now!"

"Unless they were discovered?"

"Sir--"

"Quiet!"

"Let's hope they weren't. Marx would be pissed--you know how long it took her to seize that Federation base? We'd never hear the end of it!"

There was a sound of annoyance, followed by increasingly loud steps that set everyone on edge. "Well, let's pray nothing happened and see what's in here. Food isn't going to magically appear, and Marx will have our asses for running our mouths."

_That barricade will hold them back, but not for long._

"Sir." Chandler whispered into his ear. "What are we going to do? That's the only exit!"

"We don't have a choice. We stand our ground."

"But we don't know how many people are with them. We could be killed!"

"It's a chance we have to take."

The conversation beyond the door continued.

"I'm telling you, this is a waste of time!"

"Just shut up and keep watch."

The doorknob rattled sharply; someone cursed and was hissed back into silence. Chandler was at his ear, all but begging to open the door and get a likely slaughter over with. The soldiers in hiding were waiting on their next order. Miliardo was glaring into the darkness, trying to make some sense out of all he just heard.

_So OZ General Kayline Marx of ordinance is still alive and sane no. It'll explain how she managed to seize a base; she can make a bomb out of anything. It'll also explain the truck and the armed personnel--_

"Sir??"

"**What** Chandler!"

"It's Otto! **Listen**!"

With Chandler's rambling in his ear he couldn't hear what was said. All he caught was the stomping of the soldiers up the stairs and into the distance. A single set of footsteps approached the door and banged loudly. "Sir, it's me. We're alright."

"Get that door open, **now**."

Light flooded the cellar; soon the makeshift barrier was down and the door swung open. A collective sigh of relief filled the room, but Miliardo was still tense. He knew Marx well; she was head of OZ's ordinance division, better known as the "Marx Demolition Squad". She was tolerable at best and a tyrant at her worst with a high predisposition for violence. She was known for terrorizing her subordinates, and giving high grief to anyone equal to or above her rank. Even Treize had no interest in dealing with her beyond necessity--and he personally made sure **that** was a rare occurrence. However, not a single person on earth was exempt from some amount of change in their personality. Not even Kayline Marx.

"Otto are you--"

"I'm fine. Rattled, but fine."

"Likewise." Miliardo frowned and nodded up the stairs. "Is it truly Marx they were talking about?"

"The one and only. But we don't have anything worry about." Otto said strongly as he waved for everyone to follow. "I just got through talking to her; she's quite the opposite of what we're used to. She said she heard of us passing by the Federation base she seized months ago. She wasn't ready to launch any searches for the rest of OZ yet, so she kept herself hidden. It was roughly a few days ago that she and this convoy set out to catch up to us."

Chandler pulled a face of agitation. "Well, she could've **announced** herself before sneaking up on us then!"

"On the other hand, we panicked when they approached. Had she announced herself, we wouldn't have believed her at first." Otto shrugged. "Regardless, I'm just glad it's **her**. She has weapons with her, so we can arm ourselves better at least. And she has the truck, so we can travel a lot faster now."

"If she has control of a Federation base, that means she has viable information on everything, and everyone." Miliardo said strongly. "We can find out what's going on within the Federation as well."

They came to a stop in front of the dining room they were seated in before the incident. "She's been there the entire time. Apparently she ran into some trouble on the way here, and she's trying to settle down."

"Aren't we all?" Miliardo mused lowly as he peered into the room at the large table. Seated at its head was a black woman with wild curls that fell past her shoulders. Her camouflage had seen better days. Bruises and scars etched patterns in her earthen skin. A half filled glass in one hand and the other supporting her forehead as she frowned into the bourbon. Her shoulders lifted and fell in a quiet sigh of exhaustion. "General Marx...?"

She lifted her head and met him with a mild frown. Several minutes passed before her almond shaped eyes widened in surprise and recognition. Her voice was a rasp of a soprano.

"...Merquise? That **you**?" A smile slowly raised the corners of her lips. "You look like fucking **shit**, Merquise."

"I could say the same about **you**."

"I look that bad, huh?"

"I'd say we're about even. Though," Miliardo offered a mild shrug. "You look much better than the rest of us."

"Apparently, the Federation treats their soldiers well." A brief frown of disdain. "Better than they plan on treating **us**, anyway. We just abuse that fact, and they have yet to even realize it. I'm quite sure you'd like to hear all about that, but why not have a drink with me? We have plenty of catching up to do."

"On what?"

"On the last six years since The Fall."

"Has it been that long??"

She nodded slowly. "Today's date is June 14th, A.C. 200. Six years, five months and two weeks since The Fall. A lot has happened to us since then. Some is worth sharing, some is not worth sharing. But as two out of three officers targeted by the Feds...why not share everything?"

Otto was by no means lying when he said she was the opposite of what she used to be. The General Marx he knew would **never** have invited him to sit with her, let alone share oxygen. She **never** would have offered to speak to him at all, about anything. This new Marx was immensely humbled--and the first beyond his group that was sane enough to converse him. Miliardo sat down next to her and filled an empty glass to the brim.

"So. Who should go first: me, or you?"

**********************

Thanks for visiting! Please review if you haven't already. Thanks again!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Summary: In a world where Operation Meteor is a success, Treize Kushrenada finds he has more to worry about than surviving the wasteland that earth has become. NON YAOI. NON ROMANCE.

******************

Chapter 7

*Luxembourg*

"Is this all of them?" The soldier next to Noin, also a former Ensign, nodded with disappointment.

"Unfortunately. They're capable, but they'll be liabilities should things get hot anytime soon. Barely got to the Space Port when the colonies hit."

"Wet ink on the contracts, huh?"

"Every last one of them."

"Did they learn anything at all?"

The soldier snorted in bleak amusement. "They can load and fire their weapons and not shoot themselves in the process. Hell, they can even throw a grenade--provided you remind them to throw **after** they pull the pin."

"You're joking, right Chekov?"

"No Noin, I'm not. They're the worst of the worst. Not all of them are bad; some of them are actually pretty smart and very loyal. But they **all** need a lot of work if you plan on fending off the Federation."

"And we don't have the time to train them to our level, either." Noin cast a disapproving eye at the forty-odd novice pilots in front of her. When Romefeller created the Specials and established the Lake Victoria training facility, it was their belief that a better soldier could be created while the mind was still at its most impressionable. There was nothing more impressionable, or malleable as a child's mind. Specials were recruited as young as ten, sometimes younger in the rarest of cases as she and Zechs were.

This group--many in their early teens--hadn't even set foot on the suborbital plane to Lake Victoria by the time The Fall happened. What they learned, they learned in the midst of combat. They followed orders, but were not as quick to respond even in a time of crisis. Even now, in the presence of authority however illegitimate by current standards: the horseplay, juvenile insults and jokes, the complaining and whining for creature comforts and bright skies made her scowl.

They were **not** soldiers.

They were **not** Specials.

They shouldn't even be allowed to wear the OZ flashes on their olive green camouflage. They were degenerates, spoiled brats, and above all **still children**. She was barely twelve when she engaged in her first campaign; these brats barely knew which end of their assault rifle to aim at the enemy.

But Noin mold these still impressionable clowns into capable, obedient, and fearsome soldiers and pilots. They will obey every order, accomplish any mission and lay waste to whoever was deemed the enemy. When Noin would be finished with them, they'd be a step short of perfect.

Just as every last one of her previous students was.

_There's only one thing I won't be able to train them for; space combat. There's no way to prepare them for the stress caused by exit or re-entry of the atmosphere without a simulator. I'll barely be able to train them to handle the G-forces in high speed flight._ A mild frown creased her brow as Chekov barked for them to line up. _We'll have to keep the fight on earth and on the ground for now._

"**Hey, listen up!**"

The incessant chattering ceased and they all stared wide-eyed at her. Some in shock, but **all** in fear. Whether or not they heard of her staggering from Africa to Central Europe hardly mattered. They knew of her reputation as a brilliant, but otherwise stern instructor who had no qualms of throttling her charges if they were out of line.

Noin was going to throttle every last one of these ingrates. And by whatever god was left, they were going to thank her for it when she was through.

"Judging by the looks on your faces, you know how I am." Her former self was slowly rising to the surface. She was back in her element. "Since you all know who I am, time won't be wasted on introductions. As of now, whatever families you have left are for all intents and purposes are **dead**. OZ is your family now." Her tone was as biting and sharp as it'd ever been at Lake Victoria. "You **all** will be molded into soldiers **worthy** of the title. You will **learn**. You will **listen**. You will **obey**, and you will do all you can to make the name of OZ as powerful as it once was. If not more."

A frail hand shot up and was followed by an equally frail voice.

"But, we were trained already! We know how to--"

"I don't give a good god damn **what** you know, or **who** trained you! Treize Kushrenada **himself** could have trained you. **I**. **Don't**. **Care**!" Her scowl deepened. "As far as **I'm** concerned, you know **nothing**! You know **shit**! The students that died on the way here knew **more** than you. As long as the **real** soldiers in this compound consider you all **liabilities**, your asses belong to **me**! I am your instructor. Your mother. Your father. And for those of you who lack a religion, I am your **god**! And if you plan on surviving another day in this wasteland, you'll keep your traps **shut** and **do as I tell you**. Or, I can just introduce you to a mob of dead cannibals buried in what **used** to be Israel. Any questions!?"

Nothing but complete and utter silence. They were scared stupid. Fear made them more than malleable, and it was just how Noin wanted them. She cut her eyes up and down at the group and snorted in satisfaction.

"Perfect. Now let's begin."

**********************

*Countryside*

Miliardo and Marx sat in shared silence. Each had given their individual accounts of what happened to them since The Fall six years ago, and were drained as a result. Drunken sniggering--bolstered by the alcohol--occurred during lighter moments, and shifted into varying levels of anger, dismay, wistfulness and grief. He wondered to himself if **this** Kayline Marx, this version of her that **wanted** to listen to him and speak to him existed when she was out of uniform. He wondered if this humble side of Marx lived at all, only to be usurped by the overtly aggressive side when on duty.

But that was irrelevant.

He needed to know precisely what the Colonial Federation had in mind for the remnants of the earth's population. He needed to know what they could do--if anything--to prevent another slaughter. She must have sensed his questions, since she offered a shrug and a thin smile of encouragement.

"Something on your mind?"

"...The Colonies. Their plans. Their intentions." He leaned back into his chair, hoping the alcohol would make him sluggish for the first time in years. "What exactly do they have in mind for us, Marx? Avenging Heero Yuy clearly wasn't enough for them to go through the trouble to reduce us to nothing."

"You're absolutely right." Marx sighed. "Sure, he was planning this anyway. MOII should've been the orbiting body to do the job. But you and I and anyone with half a fucking brain anymore **know** there's more to this shit than meets the eye. It didn't end with Heero Yuy. And it's not going to."

"Not until he's satisfied with making slaves out of us, I suppose."

She raised a curious eyebrow at him. "You're pretty astute for someone without spies."

"It's classic politics, Marx. Destroy your enemies, give them a leg to stand on, tell them what they want to hear and use it as a front to carry out the **real** agenda behind the scenes." Miliardo shook his head slowly. "I'm all too familiar with Romefeller and the Alliance's tactics. It doesn't surprise me that Barton is using them as well."

"Had you been in his position, would **you** have used them?"

"What do **you** think?" He frowned. "Do **you** think the son of a dead pacifist would have gone that far? Even out of revenge? Even if provoked?"

He watched Marx wilt slightly and cut her eyes to the floor. It was a harmless question, seeking a harmless answer and he suddenly regretted snapping at her. His nerves were still raw from the initial encounter with her group, and the alcohol seemed to have the effect of making him more irritable than lazy. Miliardo turned his own gaze to the floor.

"I apologize."

"Don't. I should've known **not** to ask you, considering what you've already been though." Marx waved a hand in dismissal. "No member of the Sanc ruling family would've gone the route that Barton did. Not even **my** family and they were all warmongers from birth!"

While his being the surviving heir of the Sanc Kingdom was no longer a secret, Miliardo knew of Marx's unpopular family. She was a Brazilian noble with a family that was all too happy to bully the smaller nations surrounding her homeland. They built a rather lavish lifestyle with their tyranny as a foundation. Marx supposedly defected and joined OZ at the age of nine, but judging by her own behavior back then, she was no different from her predecessors.

That is, until the colonies fell.

Now she was quite tamed and surprisingly likeable. If this was the Marx he was going to be dealing with from now on, than the previous version of her was best left in the ashes with the rest of the world. He'd take a likeable Marx over her infuriating alter ego any time.

"The past is in the past. It'd be best to leave it there." He offered. "Even if it haunts us."

"I agree, though I doubt the old me will be back for a very long time." She reached into her pocket; out came a pack of cigarettes and a pair of slender but calloused fingers pulled one from the pack. "Want one?"

"This air is foul enough. Smoking would end me **and **you."

"We're all going to end eventually; that's **life**, Merquise." She offered the pack. "Might as well indulge. Could be our last day, you know?"

"Either way, I decline."

She shrugged in a manner that said "suite yourself" and proceeded to light the cigarette with the ignition patch on the package. "I guess it's on to business then? Where should I start?"

Miliardo nodded lightly. "Start with the base. How did you overrun it?"

"My father had friends in the Sweepers on earth. They had a salvage site near my ordinance base in Siberia. I was on my way there to meet with them, and the next thing I see is a fucking colony plowing through the atmosphere." She pulled hard and exhaled a plume in between them. "The Sweepers kept me with them when they hid underground, the surviving soldiers from my base joined up with us, and we came out of hiding about a year ago. We've been on the move ever since, making a bid to reach headquarters and set up shop if everyone there died."

"There was a rumor a long time ago, about The Sweepers taking the debris and building mobile suits with them."

Marx snorted. "That's no rumor: it's a fact. They manufactured about five squadrons worth of combat grade mobile suits. But instead of going after Federation supply convoys with them, we just stayed underground and bided time."

"Because attacking the convoys would have only justified Barton's propaganda. It also would have given him viable targets."

"Precisely. For the last year or so, we've been picking up whatever **sane** soldiers we could. A few months ago, we stumbled on a Federation supply base." she rolled her eyes. "It was more of a detachment--supporting the larger, **hidden** bases somewhere around. With our numbers reaching the triple digits and that detachment being undermanned and under armed, we said "fuck it" and went for broke."

"Marx, have you truly gone mad?" Miliardo gazed at her skeptically. "You charged a base not knowing what in the world was waiting for you?? You could have been slaughtered!"

"Damn, Merquise. Cut me some fucking credit: I built **bombs** for a living!" She grinned widely. "It didn't **matter** what the hell was waiting for us because we sacked the **shit** out of that place! Limpets at every accessible corner: they didn't even see it coming. And that base has **everything**: food, weapons, Leos, racks, working showers with** clean water**!" Her tone was excited now. "You have **no idea** how good it was to **finally** wash my hair again! I thought I was going to have to shave it all off!"

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a thin smile of amusement. "Oh, I can tell."

"Like **hell** you can! Anyway, we raided every inch of that base--even took on their identities to keep the supplies and info coming in." She took another pull of her cigarette. "We're doing a hell of a job keeping our cover; I have my Intel division to thank for that. We've had that base for about four months now. **Then**, a couple of weeks ago we heard that **you** were in the area."

"Otto said you had trouble before getting here?"

Marx's otherwise jovial mood evaporated instantly. "...While OZ is slowly picking up its pieces, the civilians are buying into Barton's propaganda. ...We were **attacked** by those civilians two days ago while coming here. Not only were they armed--courtesy of the Colonial Federation--they were on the mother fucking **bong**, Merquise. They were higher than Mars on a clear night from earth."

"What are you talking about?"

"What else." Marx scowled not at him, but at the words that filled the air between them. "Barton has decided to drug the populace in order to make them more loyal. About as loyal as a junkie is to the sole dealer in town. Combined with the propaganda he's spewing, whoever cops to his bullshit has joined a guerilla army of doped-up fanatics **no different** from the extremists back in the 21st century." She paused and snickered gently in disgust. "These people are rolling on lies and speedballs, Merquise. And heavy doses of **both** are making them loyal to the Federation."

"That's ridiculous!" Miliardo frowned heavily. "Why would Barton **want** to go that--" he paused in the middle of his sentence to recall his conversation with Otto and Chandler hours ago. When he made it clear that there was more to Barton going to the lengths he was to maintain his ever growing grip on the earth. That he'd exhaust **any** resource available to force loyalty out of the population, when '_they would_ _bow down for the sake of convenience'._ He planted a hand on his forehead. _Of course Barton would want to go this far. He has nothing to lose, even if OZ __**does**__ manage to re-establish itself! How could I be so __**blind**__?_'

He looked up to see Marx watching him, waiting for him. But waiting for what? A solution to the constantly growing issue that **was** Dekim Barton? He could hardly **sleep** let alone solve many of the problems he faced from day to day. He wasn't even sure how he'd get two dozen people to Luxembourg **alive**. Finding a way to stop Barton at any level was currently beyond him. To complicate matters, there was no love lost between himself and the Marx of old; surely there was a reason why she sought him out? She threw her chin at him and tapped her temple with her free hand.

"You're thinking again."

"Why did you track me down?"

"Let's see." She nonchalantly used one of the empty plates as an ashtray and counted on her long fingers. "First off, you were the only other sane OZ soldier I was aware of besides myself and the soldiers with me. Sanc and Operation Meteor not withstanding, you've **still** got all your marbles and you can **still** rub two brain cells together and get friction. Probably more than **I** can get. Second, you know Europe better than I do--you grew up here. Even with all this madness and destruction, you've navigated yourself within a **week's travel** from Luxembourg. Anyone else would be dead by now. And third..." She bit her lip pensively. "My reputation for being a law and a horror unto myself precedes me. ...If Treize is still alive--and he was, last time I checked--he's more likely to talk to **you** than to **me**. Without some sort of buffer, he's more likely to blow my head off before letting me walk through the door."

Miliardo narrowed his eyes. "There's more. Why did you risk being murdered by doped-up survivors to scare the living daylights out of my group, and sit here and talk to me as if we were friends?"

"Strange. You looked as though you were enjoying yourself."

"I was. **That** is why I'm asking." He shook his head slowly. "The Marx **I** know would have been **all** too happy to see the state I'm in. She would have danced when she caught wind of all this, despite her own disposition. What do you want with me, and why?"

"Want me to bare my soul, huh? Fine: I will." Marx gestured helplessly. "I know I was an insufferable cunt before. **I know that**. If there's anyone to blame for that, it's my parents for instilling that behavior in me and me for not finding a more subtle way to live **and** to lead. But like you said earlier: it's in the **past**. I'm **not** that person anymore; that Kayline Marx is **dead**, and she's staying that way. ...I sought you out because I **knew** you were going to need help traveling to Luxembourg. Because I **knew** there'd be no way in hell you would have survived that trip, no matter how smart or capable you are. I came here because as an OZ soldier, **I owed you that**. We swore the same damned oath of enlistment. When I swore my oath as a commissioned officer, I **swore** to assist and protect the lives of every civilian, of everyone junior **or** senior to me and I plan **sticking** to that oath. No matter **what** happened before!" Marx cast a glare at the table that was reminiscent of the time before the colonies fell. "...You can call this atonement or an apology: I don't give a shit. But my loyalty lies with OZ, its soldiers and the earth. And I'll be god-fucking-damned if **anyone** tries to destroy them and gets away with it." She raised her eyes up at him. "Now. You want my help or not, Lieutenant? Because if we want to stop Barton, we're going to need all the help we can get. And from the looks of things, you **need** it**."**

Miliardo breathed quietly and shut his eyes. Marx had no reason to lie about anything thus far. She had nothing to gain by lying. However, there was something for **everyone** to gain by her searching for him. Even if it was as trivial as a cigarette, or a bath. It was a chance, a fighting one, to reassemble their fragmented faction. And with this chance came the realization that it was less about stopping Barton in his tracks. That was by all means impossible with the current state of things. It was more about restoring the broken armies of the earth, and the people's faith in the earth-bound military. They needed to see the truth about the Federation. About Barton's pledge to help them rebuild, and the truth about the supplies he was giving them.

**That** came before everything else, even Barton's decline.

He opened his eyes to see Marx lighting another cigarette, but found her movements weary and sluggish. She was no where near as animated as she was moments ago. There was no doubt that the ordeals of the past six years left her as drained as it left **him. **They had much in common, more than either of them might have thought possible. He seized her lightly by the wrist, earning a look of combined surprise and confusion.

"What are you--?"

"Marx. You do realize there's a chance we could all die before we could defeat Barton? That could take **years** to restore ourselves to a point where we're even able to challenge him?"

"I'm well aware of that. But I don't care how long it takes. As long as Barton drops dead in the end for what he's done."

"Then it's safe to say that we're in this together for as long as it takes? Until the very last breath is drawn?"

Marx nodded slowly. "You have my word as an OZ general. And it's as good as it's ever been."

"Alright then." he released her and folded his hands. "General, I have four people injured who need medical attention. We **all** need new uniforms, new weapons, and supplies among other things. We also need a means to reach Luxembourg in sooner than a week."

"It'll take about 24 hours, but I can facilitate all that--where are you going??"

Miliardo was on his way out of the dining room when he paused to look back at her.

"Marx, my nerves are frayed from your scaring us half to death, I have a headache from not having inhaled this much nicotine in years, and I've hardly slept in **days**. I'm **exhausted** Kayline, and I'm not going to strain myself anymore than I already have. Not today."

"There's still a lot to be done--"

"And we've done what's within our power for today. We have to take everything one day at a time; rushing would only complicate things." He stalked into the hallway before she could have a chance to say more. "If you need anything else, talk to Otto or Chandler. I'm going back to sleep."

*************************

*Moon Base*

"So, how are your studies going Mariemaia?"

Her blue eyes were distant as she stared into the melting strawberry ice cream, rubbing the back of the spoon over the haphazard globes. As doting as he could be, Trowa was frightfully boring. His favorite conversation topics involved and were limited to food, brawling, and taunting the regular soldiers on the base. But as mind-numbing as it was, engaging in typical idle chatter was the only way to stall her uncle for now.

"They're fine. My tutors recommended me for advanced mathematics. She also suggested I attend the Lockheed-Martin Institute for Engineering on L1."

"That's amazing! I was never good at math; it's a miracle I became a pilot at all!" It was a miracle Trowa was anything of value, even his own father said as much. Had his father been an average citizen, Trowa **never** would have seen the outermost armor of **any** mobile suit. Trowa shrugged and shoveled more ice cream into his mouth. "Ah well. It is what it is. But that's great you're doing well. I worry about you at times; if you're studying, eating well, being treated well."

"Grandfather spares no expense when it comes to me. At the same time, it's a bit stifling."

"What do you mean?"

"At times, it feels excessive...almost intentional. As if by placing everything within my fingertips, I'd have no reason to stray. As if he's trying atone for something that he failed to do with Mother."

Trowa raised an eyebrow. "Do you really feel that way?" she nodded quietly. "Do you ...like being here Mariemaia?"

"...Hardly." The statement was almost a whisper as she tried to pretend to eat the melted ice cream. _I don't mind the tutors, the tailors, the gifts. I don't mind being spoiled, and I am grateful. But I __**do not**__ deserve to be trapped here like a bird in a cage, singing only when told to sing. I __**do not**__ deserve to have my life be molded by someone else! I __**do not**__ want to live like this! _"I'd rather be elsewhere."

"Marie, is everything alright...?" Trowa frowned lightly. "It's as if you're not here."

"I'm alright, Uncle Trowa. Just a little tired, I suppose. Grandfather makes me study politics, often until it's late. It's not my favorite subject, but apparently he feels I have some sort of potential to take his place in the future."

She raised her eyes from the bowl to see her uncle's frown deepen. He apparently did not like the sound of his father feeding corruption and totalitarianism to his one and only niece. And it was the perfect topic to keep him enthralled for as long as possible. _Now we're getting somewhere._

"Are you even interested in politics?"

"Not enough to be a politician."

"I should've known."

"But grandfather insists." Mariemaia shook her head slowly. "He's always going on about how _'once my time passes, you will carry the Barton name to glory...unlike that wastrel of a son I have_.'"

The wastrel comment was a complete lie, but it was convincing enough to make Trowa put the spoon down and push the bowl aside. The two had little more than pleasantries for each other, and those were subject to change. _That's it, Trowa. Ask about your father's machinations and harbored insults for you. The longer you wait to deploy, the easier it will be to plant our operative in Heavyarms. And the sooner we'll __**both**__ be free of your father's influence_.

"What else did he say?" Mariemaia feigned guilt and turned her head. Trowa leaned forward on the table. "It's alright--anything you tell me will be between the two of us."

"You won't tell him what I said, will you? He'd be furious..."

"No, never!"

Mariemaia nodded gently. _Perfection_.

While her grandfather was already earning the confidence of the destitute on earth, it certainly was not because he touted the Federation as 'saviors'. The people of earth were desperate. So desperate, they would pledge allegiance to anyone who was willing to give them supplies or food. A die hard patriot would call it a cop-out, but his growling belly would quickly say otherwise. Self-preservation would win in the end, even if it meant some measure of enslavement.

But Mariemaia would not allow that to last much longer.

As long as she had a foothold within her grandfather's tight inner circles, she would do whatever she could to stall, delay, and otherwise dismantle his tyrannical plans. Including using her uncle. Mariemaia slid out of her chair and stepped around the table. She stood on her toes and leaned in close to whisper into his ear.

"He told me what **really **happened to my mother…"

********

Please review if you haven't already. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Official Summary: In a world where Operation Meteor is a success, Treize Kushrenada finds he has more to worry about than surviving the wasteland that earth has become.

*****************

Chapter 8

*Moon Base*

They were getting bolder.

His prize canary that would be the key to cementing his position as sovereign of both the colonies **and** the earth had grown especially bold. Communicating with rebel forces was an offence punishable by Federation law with nothing less than several **million** dollars in fines and fifty years of prison time. But the law only applied to adults and Mariemaia--despite all her maturity and wisdom at the age of 12--was still a child. And there was no doubt in his mind that she used this as leverage to convince the technicians to remove the security restrictions on her personal workstation. The girl would not be blatant or insightful about her intentions, but she had enough charisma to talk anyone into doing her bidding.

_Just like her damned father._

But that was the least of his immediate concerns. Never mind the "how"; Dekim wanted to know "who" in the rebel faction she was communicating with. He wanted names, locations, and affiliations. He also wanted to know "why" she was holding Trowa from his preparations to travel to earth. Most of all, there were the vermin on earth to worry about.

All he knew of Peacecraft was that he'd been on the move around the earth for several years. If he died or not was subject to debate--information from below had been too sketchy for his liking for the past six months. He often blamed the heavy cloud cover, but deep down he knew that something else was afoot. Either way, Peacecraft was incapable of doing anything **but** wander the earth. And wander he would, until his death.

Marx would eventually pose a problem. As OZ's former lead ordinance specialist, it would be nothing to her to create incendiaries out of whatever was available. She was also respected for her success in leading multiple assaults on pockets of colonial sympathizers turned violent. But with all her expertise and talent, she was no more a threat than Peacecraft. It was Kushrenada he was more concerned about. Reports regarding the last few days showed a surge in activity around the old Luxembourg compound. What could he be doing? What was he planning? What did he hope to accomplish? Whatever his intentions and regardless of the circumstances, Treize was still a threat. He could easily galvanize the masses and they would follow him to the end of the world. With all his damned intelligence and endless skill, any attempts to quell the growing opposition would fail. Dekim's supply shipments would mean nothing and would be taken to serve whatever agenda Treize had in mind. They would crown him their precious sovereign and cry for war against the colonies. And with the destruction of his home and the assassination of his father still fresh on his mind, Treize would be all too happy to oblige.

That could not be allowed.

As Dekim watched Mariemaia whisper into her uncle's ear, he was witnessing the initial unraveling of his plans. The plans he spent decades organizing, re-organizing, debating and finally executing. He watched the retreat of every step he'd taken to bring the earth to its knees. The reversal of all the effort and time he'd given to his scheme.

And it was all HER doing.

That she managed to earn the trust of the rebels was of no surprise, but that fact alone was utter proof of his underestimating her. Just as he underestimated Leia, who nearly disrupted his plans entirely years ago. But while Leia was no longer an issue, his obstinate granddaughter has proven to be as great a threat as her father. She was using her position within his inner circles against him, just as any politician with an agenda as grand as his own would. This upstart had to be stopped. Be damned if his goal to rule the entire Earth Sphere failed before he could cement his authority. He would not lose to scavengers and overconfident children.

Just as blood relation did not spare Leia, it would not spare Mariemaia either.

Dekim brought the video consul on his desk to life. A soldier saluted sharply.

"I want Mariemaia's workstation confiscated; trace all communications made within the last 72 hours. Leave nothing unchecked."

"Has something happened?"

"There is a possibility she has been communicating with rebel factions, and I want to know precisely whom she's been in contact with. ...Also, if she attempts to enter any spaces relevant to our operations on earth I want her arrested immediately."

The soldier faltered mildly. "A-alright. But her tutors often take her into restricted spaces--"

"The tutors will be informed. Mariemaia is to be detained on sight."

"If she insists on entering...?"

"That would be a shame, now wouldn't it?" He waved at the monitor in dismissal. "You have your orders. And remind Trowa that he has an assignment to complete. At once. Further delays will not be tolerated."

The consul blinked off and he leaned back into his seat. 'With every goal comes a price, and I will gladly pay in blood to have mine manifest--no matter whose it is.'

********************

*Countryside*

Miliardo stood in front of the walk-in shower, peeling out of the layers of clothing. After getting better sleep than he had in what felt like months, he was roused by an enthusiastic Chandler. According to her, Marx made good on her word so far: new clothing, much needed surgery for the injured, weapons and even some repairs to the building. Particularly, the estate's water filtration system. He'd avoided using the water here, simply out of assumption that would be filthy and therefore unsafe. But apparently, the pipes were well protected and far enough underground to avoid significant damage. The filters had been repaired, replaced and hot crystalline water poured from the dented spigot above his head as a result. How she managed to get the filtration system to work without power was beyond him, but it didn't matter. Marx made good on her word so far; she was also **very** thorough.

'But can she get us to Luxembourg in less than a week?'

The obvious and trusting answer would be 'yes', if she managed to approach him in less than a day. But it was still **several** days to headquarters. All the high powered equipment in the world would not change the fact that they would be dealing with thieves and cannibals. Especially if they'd been loaded to the gills with narcotics through the supplies Barton was giving them. Yes, Marx was quite fortunate to have seized a Federation detachment with little resources at her disposal. Yes, she'd dealt with the raving and insane. However, the raving and insane were beyond that now. All thanks to a certain totalitarian and his drug-infused propaganda. Would any of them be able to handle this new hoard of displaced and disturbed citizenry?

Miliardo decided to cross that bridge when it came. He was enjoying his shower in a long time at the moment, watching the grime and dirt swirl down the drain along with the stress and agitation he'd felt in the last couple of days. He barely flinched when the door to the bathroom opened.

"There you are Sleeping Beauty."

"Could you blame me?"

"Not at all." He saw Marx through the corner of his eye; she seated herself on the edge of the sink. "I had to lie down for a while too. Amazing what a couple hours sleep can do for one's sanity. By the way; your injured friends will be fine. After amputation, that is. While they were able to hang on as long as they did, their infections didn't improve."

He frowned heavily. "Gangrene?"

"Miraculously it's not that extreme, but still pretty foul. They can be fitted with prosthetics, but it'd be best if they didn't travel with us. No matter **how** much they insist."

As much as **he** would like to insist that they come with the rest of the group, Miliardo had to concede. Marx was right. They would only become liabilities. They were, essentially, no longer fit for duty of any sort. _So close, but yet so far_.

"Chandler told me you obtained weapons for us?"

"Yep: the updated AK-108B. Complete with an under slung grenade launcher modified to take 50 millimeter rounds in addition to your standard 40. Next to no recoil. 40 rounds a clip. Laser and night sights, along with electronic zoom for the sniper buried within."

"How close can you hone in?"

"I'd gather from at least a mile away, you can zoom in on the pupils of someone's eyeball in less than ten seconds--maybe faster if you're good."

He'd heard of the latest variant of the legendary assault rifle, but it was a rumor at best by the time the colonies fell. The only available model of the archaic Kalashnikov back then was the 107, which was on its way to being phased out. It was also the only weapon he and his crew had until now.

"Apparently the colonies have been busy."

"No shit. Even got some new types of rounds: Sleepers. Stunners. Venom loads. Same for grenades **and** low scale rockets." Her voice took on a morbidly enthusiastic lilt--common with those in the fields of infantry and ordinance. "And if we keep our cover long enough, we'll get our hands on some **glorious** stun batons. They're capable of frying a human being to an acrid crisp, **without** frying the handler. Guaranteed or your money back."

Miliardo rolled his eyes. "Spare me the theatrics, Marx. Can you get us to--"

"I figured you'd ask that, and the answer is yes. But there's some things we need to discuss first before we go anywhere." The water turned off and he emerged from the shower to be met with a towel thrust in his direction. Most women would have made their exit by now, not interested in seeing a grown man step naked out of the shower. But Marx was not the least bit mortified **or** in a hurry to leave.

"Are you going to sit there and watch me get dressed?"

"Why? You shy or something?"

"Usually the average person would leave when someone is trying to make them self presentable."

Marx snorted irritably. "You need to get over yourself Merquise. I've spent my entire military career being surrounded by mostly men. I work with them, I've lived with them, and on several occasions during exercises and tests in the middle of fucking nowhere, I had to SHOWER with them." she waved at him dismissively. "Yours isn't the first dick I've seen, and it won't be the last. Besides, you should be glad it's **me** and not that little girl Chandler. She's all wet in the crotch over you."

"I'm fully aware of that." he grumbled as the towel fell to the floor in exchanged for the clean uniform above his head. A near 180 degree change and she was **still** crude. "But she knows her place and rarely has to be reminded of it. What do you want to talk about?"

"I wanted to discuss a potential plan of action in the event of an ambush." Marx frowned heavily in concern. "I have a contact on the Moon Base who claims that someone's trying to stall it. But they don't know how she's managing--haven't heard from her in hours. The ambush goes down in two days, but as far as exact landing sites, Barton's not letting that go."

The black t-shirt went over his head and was followed by the olive battle dress shirt. He sat on the edge of the bath tub and set to work on his boots. "That's not a surprise. However, three questions need to be answered. First, what sort of weapons **is** Barton giving his new fanatics? Second, how reliable is this contact of yours? And lastly, exactly **what** are they ambushing us **with**?"

He saw Marx rub the back of her neck. "Well, the gear the doped up nut jobs are using is nothing in comparison to ours. Standard M4 and AK-107 assault rifles with equally standard rounds. We can slay them all and leave nothing left for Barton to clean up, literally. That's the first. Second, this individual has been fairly reliable so far. But eventually, he's going to have to go into silence; Barton's noticing holes in his circle and he's going to do some "patch work". And as far as what they'll ambush us with?" She made a futile gesture. "Let me put it like this. These mobile suits are above and beyond "state of the art". Sure, the Tallgeese was an outstanding mobile suit. But these **outclass** it."

"Get to the point."

"Merquise, as a bomb expert I **know** my metals and elements. I can recite the fucking Periodic Table **in my sleep**." She shook her head slowly. "But these new mobile suits that Barton ordered to be built were made with Gundanium alloy. As a pilot, you **know** what that metal is and **why** it was phased out."

"It was too expensive to mine. Titanium was cheaper and more abundant."

"Gundanium alloy is virtually indestructible. **Five** of these mobile suits were built with this stuff." Marx raised a hand to cut Miliardo off. "You need to understand something; the developers of these mobile suits are on the verge of turning them **all** against Barton. However, they've been stonewalled which is why they're trying to stall the ambush all together. Sure, four of them may be on our side should all go as planned. But one is still enough to level a quarter of a **continent**."

He nodded lightly. Miliardo was fully aware of the capabilities of Gundanium. It was drilled into his head at Lake Victoria, and made mandatory knowledge by Romefeller--with the intention of employing the alloy as a secret weapon. The prospect of **five** mobile suits built with this material was not only remarkable, but disturbing. These suits would be invisible on any functioning radar. Incendiaries would bounce off of them like a rubber ball against bricks. Its light weight made them faster than anything that was on earth. He stood and reached for his dog tags dangling from a hook in the wall.

"So you're saying that even if one of these contraptions is against us, we are, for all intent and purposes **finished**."

"Worse than that: we're **fucked**."

"Proper fucked."

"Basically."

_Which means that we have two choices: we either scramble to headquarters within 48 hours...or we can lay low at this base of hers. _It had been a point of discussion Miliardo had been planning on raising, but was sidetracked by exhaustion. Not merely would it provide some measure of protection from whatever Barton was sending to earth, he would be able to learn exactly to what **extent** Marx had penetrated the Federation. If she had a contact there, then she had deeper ties than she was letting on.

"Making a path for headquarters would be a game of Russian Roulette. It would take too long, and we would be too vulnerable. We go to **your** base and find out more about this ambush and what we can do once it arrives."

"That's sound idea. It's closer--five hours away. Better equipment. You can also check on your injured friends."

_I also want to know who's feeding you this information and if they can be trusted as you_ _say they can._ "Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Well, I'd hate to bring up that little girl again. But--" An explosion shook the walls of the building, making dust and fragments of the ceiling rain on their heads. Marx was instantly furious and nearly left Miliardo behind as they made their way outside. As they reached the front door and stepped outside, they were enveloped in thick smoke. "Who the **fuck** set that off!?"

Just before Miliardo could voice his own demands, Otto stepped out of the smoke with Chandler in tow. He donned fresh cuts on his face and hands, but was for the most part unharmed and holding up a seemingly unconscious Chandler. As the smoke and dust cleared, he could see the damage that'd been done. The armored truck was still whole, but any equipment sitting outside of it was completely destroyed. The worst of the injuries among the others were the trademark lacerations--nothing severe or fatal.

"Otto what happened?"

"Someone spotted movement in the trees and sent in a grenade before we could investigate. If anything's out there, it's either dead or it took off."

"And Chandler?"

"She's barely conscious, and lucky to be whole. She was right in the face of the explosion."

Miliardo frowned--a brief glance at Marx showed she had the same visage. Something was wrong. "Take Chandler to the medics and make sure you're alright as well. Then come back and tell us whatever you saw."

"For what it's worth, Sir," Otto said lowly. "This looks like a set up. As if someone **wants** us to be trapped here. For what reason, I'm not sure. But those savages that attacked Marx last night aren't responsible for this. They're no where in sight, and haven't been seen since the assault. ...It's just a thought."

As he shuffled off with Chandler, he and Marx immediately stormed back into the building and shut the door behind them. "Do you believe it was a set up?"

"Damn straight I believe it's a set up." she spat. "It's got all the earmarks of one! Someone must have been eavesdropping on our conversations since I showed up, especially in the bathroom."

"And how strange it is that Chandler is the most injured of everyone."

"How fucking strange indeed." She tilted her head. "Which brings me back to before I was interrupted: that little girl was acting **quite** strange since the fresh supplies showed up. She was crowding the shadows of everyone who had access to the equipment and weapons, and listening on **their** conversations as well. And now all of a sudden a fucking grenade blows up and she's the **only** one in the worst possible shape? That brat is up to something, and **I don't fucking like it** Merquise!"

"Neither do **I**, Marx." Miliardo was no stranger to betrayal, but he was never played for the fool. He never allowed it. The fact that someone was blatantly attempting to do so directly under his auspices was infuriating. What pushed his rage to its very limit was that the suspect was the very person who'd been sniveling and whining about everything that was beyond their control. The very person who practically **lived** in his own shadow, let alone where ever they could sleep. He swallowed his fury and nodded slowly in understanding. "When she comes to, call everyone together."

"For what, a public reprimand?"

"If only it were that simple." He cut a heavy scowl to the open space beyond the door. "We have a **rat** problem."

********************

*Luxembourg*

Treize leaned on the chipped and beaten porcelain sink of the once ornate bathroom. He leered into his fatigued reflection, raising a scarred hand to brush the tangled hair from his face. He'd slept longer than expected, though not long enough. Treize had all but forgotten what it was to sleep for some 20 hours or more after long conference tours or arduous front line campaigns. But in this bleak world, paranoia forced him to startle himself awake multiple times. Of course, nothing happened; but he was never able to master the art of expecting the unexpected, no matter how well he feigned it in the past. He slept better today than he had in weeks, no amount of rest he managed to get was ever enough.

He lowered his hand with quiet sigh and retreated to the bedroom. He sat on the dirty sofa and leaned back with arms folded.

_How long has it truly been since the colonies fell...?_

Seeing Noin in her fragile state was a striking reminder of what he endured mere weeks after the initial colony plowed through the atmosphere. He knew she collapsed on the marble steps somewhere below him. Treize had done it himself, and he scarcely remembered doing so. He didn't ask what she did to survive the journey here; he already knew what she'd done. He'd already done what she had done. Actions that, in a past life, would have made him scowl in disgust. Actions that made him question his humanity. Question his sanity, or the lack of both. A frown creased his brow as images of the violence and depravity he had to witness and participate entered the fore. There was no doubt in his mind that Noin felt the same way he did; they always had much in common. Just as he and Miliardo had much in common.

Perhaps they had too much in common.

_Seems the three of us are forever intertwined somehow_. He shook his head slowly. _Unfortunately, loss, tragedy and violence are the ties that will eternally bind us together._

Several knocks at the door made him snap his head upward. The door creaked open and a teenaged girl--from Recon, judging by the rating patch on her collar--stepped inside.

"Do you need something?"

"Sorry to bother you, Sir. But there's something you should see..."

_So much for brooding. _Treize rose from his seat and followed the young girl into the hallway. "Is there a problem?"

"Well...it's not really a problem." she said dubiously as they winded through the halls. "It's more of an accidental discovery. We found some rather large crates about a mile and a half from here. They're clean: no explosives or anything related to them."

"Do they contain anything useful?"

"We haven't opened them yet, though it looks as if they've been opened previously and then resealed."

_So someone's already taken Barton's bait_. _But why reseal them and throw them away?_' They finally emerged outside, and he cast his eyes on the objects of mention. The small mob turned to face him and parted to let him pass. "How long have you had them?"

"About an hour, Sir. Not much longer."

"Let's get this over with. Open it up."

Crowbars and hatches met with the wood; soon the side laid flat on the ground.

And decayed corpses followed it.

The group instantly jumped backwards, Treize included. The sight of the rotting bodies was nothing new, but the stench was overpowering. The bodies themselves were in various states of dismemberment. Many were stripped of their flesh. Others retained bite marks and were riddled with bullet holes. All had been placed in the crate and left to spoil until some unfortunate fool--or group of fools--opened it in search of viable items. Flies, gnats and maggots roared in their ears as they staggered away from the crate, some wretched loudly and others flailing madly at the insects. Treize swallowed hard on the bile that shot to the top of his throat.

"Goddamn cannibals!"

"Sir, what should we do with the others??"

There was a cluster of cannibals several miles out—always closing in to within two miles and then retreating to where ever they came from. They had to be the ones responsible for this "delivery"; whatever hovel they're created for themselves was as close as Barton's drop shipments would get to this compound. And if they put their refuse of dead civilians within **this** crate, it was likely the others were just the same.

It was also very likely that they had come and were settled as close as a single mile.

They were closing in, and this was warning of their arrival.

"Never mind the others--gather as many as you can and set up a perimeter around the entire compound. **Now**! And if you see Noin, tell her to talk to me at once!"

As they scattered, Treize caught a glimpse of what looked like a folded sheet of paper. It was brutally pinned with a crude stake of a tree branch through the eye of what used to be an adult female. Desperately trying to ignore the possibilities of what happened to this woman, he stepped over to her and lifted the paper: it was spotted with hardened blood. He opened it and read the message scrawled raggedly in blood:

_We sided with the Colonies. YOU should do the same._

It was a blatant threat; he was being called out and given an example if he chose **not** to join their fold. Treize had no intention of remotely affiliating himself, or the people in his charge with the Colonial Federation, let alone cannibals.

But whatever had been in this crate and the others prior to these poor people was apparently enough to embolden these once fearful savages. The contents gave them enough courage--or blind stupidity—to challenge this remnant of a military installation and its personnel. Of course, there was nothing to be gained from it: a few dozen raving lunatics were no match for some three hundred trained soldiers. Most of which, had spent upwards of ten years in combat--Une, Noin, and his self included. But why take the chance knowing the odds were against them? What exactly was driving them? What was Barton giving them in exchange?

_Une might be able to pry some measure of information from Sally if she--_

The paper fell from his hands as blood drained from his face.

_Une! SHIT!_

_*************************_

Thanks for hanging in and reading so far. If you haven't reviewed yet, please feel free! Thanks again!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Official Summary: In a world where Operation Meteor is a success, Treize Kushrenada finds he has more to worry about than surviving the wasteland that earth has become.

******************

Chapter 9

*Moon Base*

Mariemaia watched her uncle sit in his seat in utmost silence. A hand covered his face while the other was locked in a tight fist; he couldn't see the gaze of indifference she cast on him. Despite the outward lack of emotion, internally, she was disturbed. Having to remember how sickly and frail her mother was before her passing was by no means easy. Knowing that her own grandfather was responsible made matters that much harder. Trowa took a deep breath and shifted his hand to his mouth. She could go on to say that his father was also responsible for the death of his own fiancée, but the barb had gone far enough.

"...I told your mother to be careful. I told her to quit her job at the hospital, and to stay away from **him**."

"Mother enjoyed her work. She wanted to do what she thought would be best for everyone."

"Your mother was an active rebel to his plans and sympathizer to your father's agenda--whatever the hell **that** was at the time. She knew what she was getting into and I **wanred** her." Trowa shook his head as he interlocked his hands and rested them on the table. "Still...regardless of what she was doing, he should **not** have gone so far as to release that virus into the hospital. He should **not** have attacked **family**, even if Leia **was** involved with the rebels **or** the earth!"

He raked his fingers through his hair and sighed loudly. Mariemaia did not enjoy playing with Trowa's emotions as it stirred her own grief for her mother. But this was necessary if she were to maintain some foothold in her grandfather's tightening circles. Trowa was as close as she could get without being outwardly blatant.

"Uncle, what will you do? You are still under orders to travel to earth."

"I know, Marie. And disobeying will put me in an even worse position than your mother was in." A quick shift of his eyes to the table. "Unfortunately, I have to carry out Father's orders. I have to go to earth. This mission is necessary to keep the Federation in the best possible light, and kill any chance of rebel uprisings before they can even be planned."

She frowned quickly and lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. "This is no "mission", it's an invasion! The people of earth are in **no** condition to resist let alone defend themselves. It'll be a slaughter, a **massacre**; grandfather knows that and so do you!"

"'Massacre' isn't the word I'd choose to describe it. But when you're an adult and put in positions that question your principles, you have to make the best possible choice."

"Mother made the best possible choice."

"And look what happened to her." It took every ounce of restraint **not** to reach across the table and strike him. Trowa matched her frown and leaned forward. "I don't like this anymore than **you** do, Marie. Believe me: I would love to wash my hands of this entire situation. But an order's an order, and I **have** to follow it. Do you want anything to happen to me??"

"Of course not! But I'd rather you do what's right instead of forcing yourself to do what's wrong! And going to the earth to eradicate a destitute populace just to find my father is **wrong**!"

"Is that what this is about? Mariemaia, he doesn't even know you're alive!"

"It's not only about that! It's about **everything**!" The few people in the mess turned their heads towards her sudden outburst. Flustered and angry, Mariemaia thrust herself back into her seat and forced her self to speak in calmer tones. "We're **prisoners** here in the colonies, Trowa. Animals trapped in these titanium cages, orbiting the planet that gave humanity its very existence. Now that we colonists are independent of the earth, suddenly we have the right to enslave it as well? Is **that** what you're telling me? That we prisoners have the right to create **more** prisoners, because of an instigated assassination thirty years ago!?"

"You're too young. You don't understand why father's doing this."

"Wrong: **you** don't understand!" She jabbed a finger in his face. "You'd rather follow orders and turn a blind eye than see that this so called act of revenge is nothing but the siege of a planet for **one** purpose, and that's **enslavement**. Grandfather wants to expand his jurisdiction to Mars, and he can't do it without labor! And rather than send his precious "colonists" to do the work, he shatters the seat of all humanity, drugs them stupid and plans to make the earth a mine for his plans! **That** is the true purpose of Operation Meteor!"

"Operation Meteor was to avenge Heero Yuy."

"Good god Uncle Trowa, how can you willingly be so **dense**!" Mariemaia scowled angrily. He was spitefully ignorant of the truth; she was losing ground with him. "Heero Yuy's assassination was all part of grandfather's plot. His murder was **cannon fodder** to galvanize the masses and instill the anti-earth sentiment necessary to push his campaign! Can't you see that!? Yuy was a tool! We're **all** tools--"

"That's enough!" He shook his head at her ruefully. "Everything your saying is true. But I'm sorry Marie. You said your mother made the best possible choice. She made **her** decision, and I'm making **mine**. Now, we're both at risk just having this conversation. You see he showed no remorse for your mother; I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you because of this. I'm more worried about you, than I am for **myself**. This entire situation is far beyond you. You're still a child and you need to start acting like it."

"Even if your father plans on using me to further this mad agenda of his??"

"I'm sure he has his reasons, with your best interests at the center of them. Now stop this and get back to your studies."

"Uncle Trowa--"

"I have to get back to the hangar bay. I've been gone long enough. And if you know what's good for you, you'll forget we had this conversation."

He rose from the table, planted a soft kiss on the top of her head and walked off leaving Mariemaia in shocked silence. He knew the truth behind his father's scheming, just as her mother knew the truth. But where she rebelled, Trowa staged a weak defense for his father's actions, and even went as far as to blatantly look the other way. But try as she might, there was no talking him out of going let alone abandoning the mission as a whole. He would descend to the stricken planet, and hunt down the 'threats' to the Federation. Most of all, she had lost her means of directly disrupting her grandfather's plans. However, she should have held Trowa long enough for the operative to take his place. If so, all five operatives would deploy, leaving Trowa here and giving the people of earth one last chance at total sovereignty.

_Provided those old fools go according to plan._

With a bereaved sigh, she slid from her own seat and made her exit. She had to make one final report of her end of the situation, and most likely have to become scarce. Mariemaia may have had the upper hand for some time. But with Trowa completely against her now and her grandfather watching her every move, continuing would be a fool's errand.

At least, on the Moon Base it was.

She would need to find a way out of here, and quickly. Trowa was by no means bluffing when he said his father would show her no remorse, and Mariemaia had no intention of missing out on the effort and hard work she put into her end of the rebellion. She was soon at her workstation, facing the familiar screen of static and hearing the voice of Dr. J.

"I hear your uncle turned on you."

"News travels fast."

"I have ears everywhere. And they also tell me you are in a great deal of trouble, child."

'What else is new?' "I have to leave here--go somewhere out of my grandfather's reach."

"Well, that place would have to be earth itself. But just how willing are you to risk your life to get there?"

"Dr. J, my life has been at risk since I agreed to participate in your plans."

"This is quite serious, Miss Barton." His tone had become one of warning. "If your grandfather does not reach you, whatever dangers await on earth WILL. My contact tells me the place is a wasteland, with countless ways to kill a person and painfully so. And while I will place you in good hands, your fate there on after relies solely on YOU and your willingness to learn from these soldiers. Now, I will ask you again: are you ready to risk your life? For once you leave here, there will be NO returning."

Mariemaia suppressed an eye roll of impatience, but she had no choice but to welcome the full gravity of the situation. There was no doubt that her grandfather was eager to detain her; that was given, considering the fact that she practically used much of his immediate personnel against him and in her own favor. But regardless of how she left--if she managed to leave--a colony-wide writ for her arrest would be released. He would also release a warrant for her arrest on earth. And depending on how large a reward he placed on her head, the stricken citizenry would be eager to find her. The odds it seemed were completely against her.

'Unless this individual has a connection to my father some how.' "Who is this person you'll be sending me to?"

"You'll meet her within hours of your arrival. That is all I can say of her for now. But let me warn you, Miss Barton. These soldiers are not like those of the Federation. They are a step short of insanity, a step short of barbarism if they have not already crossed that line. Many of them have. The woman whose auspices I will place you in is an expert in her field, and an outstanding leader. But she **will** be heavy handed with you if she feels it is necessary. My advice to you will be to listen and to learn. Do we have an understanding, young lady?"

She nodded despite herself at the static, though Mariemaia was positive he could see **her** clearly. "What do I have to do?"

"One of my operatives will meet you there shortly. I will notify my contact of your pending arrival. If you must carry items with you, only bring what you will need and make sure it's minimal. Follow him; he will take care of everything."

The monitor shut off; she was out of the chair and in search of a backpack. She hated when these old scientists were vague, but understood the necessity. The walls truly had ears; and if the walls of her quarters had ears, then she was in more 'trouble' than Dr. J hinted at. After the pack was found, she opened her closet and found only casual clothing. Nothing in her wardrobe was suitable for the conditions she would soon be living in. The closet was shut and into the pack went sentimental items, a journal, and several discs of information from her grandfather's terminal--downloaded remotely, of course and made to appear as if he'd done it himself. The annoying tutors were useful after all. Her door chimed, and then slid open. A young man tilted his head gently at her, a single green eye peering at her beneath a billed cap.

"Mariemaia? Are you ready?"

"Yes...I'll need a uniform if you--"

"That's already been arranged."

She frowned heavily at him as they stepped out of the room and walked briskly through the corridors. "You're with the others aren't you? Can I at least have your name?"

He shook his head slowly. "I don't have one."

Mariemaia nodded slowly. _He couldn't send someone a little more sociable?_ "I see. So. Who am I meeting with?"

"You'll know her when you see her. She'll be waiting for you." They entered the elevator and the doors slid shut. She was barely able to see what he did with a non-descript key-fob; the surveillance camera went off, and the cab initiated a descent that was faster than usual. "Once you get off the elevator, I'll leave you with our allies in the supply division. After that, we part ways. If you're having second thoughts, say them now and I can take you back to your room."

"I can't go back there and you know that." She snapped. "Now stop being vague with me, and tell me who you are!"

He looked at her for several moments, and shook his head again in the negative. "I have no name. But I **will** be your uncle's replacement."

"What do you mean--" She was cut off by the abrupt stop of the elevator. The doors slid open and she was pulled along the catwalk. "Hey! Let **go** of me--"

"We're wasting time. You leave within the half hour."

******************************

*Luxembourg*

Une frowned heavily as she and the half dozen soldiers in her charge moved the fallen tree from their path. Sally was just within their line of sight.

"We might lose her like this, Une."

She pulled the heavy sidearm from her waist and released the clip from its resting place; it was bound with green tape--exploding ceramic rounds that would turn to powder if they stuck a solid wood or metal surface. Flesh however, was shredded from the inside out upon impact. It was a sniper's round, designed to immediately kill their targets. Une was not a sniper and by no means an expert shot. But there were times when the amount of bullets in the air mattered more than accuracy. And with such violent ammunition at her disposal, accuracy would not be an issue. The clip was slammed back into place and the first round cocked into the waiting chamber.

"No, we won't." the dead trunk was dropped to the side."I'll go on ahead to catch up. Cover me."

"One of us should go with you."

"She's not that far. I'll be fine."

"But what if something happens--"

"The Jericho has a loud voice." The group was hesitant, but they finally nodded or mumbled in resignation. "Stay together, stay alert. I won't be long."

Despite being charred and defeated, the ancient forest was still quite dense. It denser than before the fall of the colonies, thanks to the amount of debris that fell after being sent skyward by the impacts. But Une was equally familiar with these woods; walking through them was not a problem. She was more concerned about whatever could be or already was hiding around her, waiting for a moment to either ambush or place themselves between her and Sally. Walking alone was by no means ideal. Fleeting flashbacks of being assaulted multiple times during the initial fallout made her additionally wary of her surroundings. Total recall of any ordeal or situation from back then--however violent--would turn them into utter distractions that she didn't need--

"Damn!"

As she stumbled to her knees, her glasses fell from her face and landed--lens first--on a small stone. The 'chink' of the glass was somehow loud enough to reach Sally and cause her to turn around. The sound of movement behind her rose quickly in volume, prompting her to rip her sidearm from her waist. Sally's voice was suddenly in her ear.

"What the hell are you doing??"

"I was ordered to bring you assistance--"

"First he turns me away, now he's feeling regret for it??"

"Don't fool yourself, Sally." Une countered and lowered her weapon when the soldiers in her charge appeared. "He did what he felt was necessary, just as he **always** has. He also ordered me to bring these soldiers to you. They're loyal to Merquise, and they know the area fairly well. They'll be of more help than the civilians in your group."

"Take them back." Sally frowned at her. "I don't need them. If Merquise is on his way to headquarters, there's only **one** direction he'd be able to travel from!"

"Then name one. And while you're at it, you'll take these five soldiers with you so they can navigate this forest and keep you from getting yourself killed outright!"

Sally opened her mouth to retort, but fell silent for a brief moment. She turned her head and swallowed, her eyes focused on their bleak surroundings. "...It's likely that he will come from the same direction as I and my group did: the east. That's where his last assignment was, that's where he'll emerge from. My group is in his direct path--he'll **have** to encounter us before getting there."

"What makes you so sure?"

"We've tried all the other paths." Une and her five charges followed Sally as she walked deeper into the trees. "Any other likely way to Treize has been seized by cannibals--he's completely surrounded at about a mile and a half out. We weren't hassled because they fear the mobile suits; they were deterrents, not threats."

"We know that now. You realize Treize believes you--"

"Of course he does! The man's not stupid, Une." Sally snapped impatiently as she pushed the stiff remains of a bush aside for them to pass. "It should be safe to assume that he's expecting anyone with a military background to survive this madness. If he's truly planning on staging some sort of rebellion against the Colonies, of course he's going to enlist any remaining soldier with even a sliver of their sanity left: that's common sense."

Une gave a mental nod of agreement. Though he had never said so outright, Treize decided long before The Fall that Dekim Barton would be the man to defeat in order to achieve any semblance of real peace. Romefeller was not his concern. The Alliance was not his concern. Both could be dealt with, and would have been dealt with. Treize even went as far to say that Barton ordered the fall of the Colonies as an act of desperation, once he had heard that Treize had been chosen to lead OZ. He never elaborated on why.

"How do you plan on finding Merquise?"

"We'll leave the Leos here at Headquarters and backtrack for thirty miles. There woods are too thick to travel on by foot, and the Leos are too obvious for Barton's supply convoys. Merquise will definitely use the paved roads; for some reason, the cannibals and thieves stay away from them. We'll use the roads as well and hopefully run into him. ...And I sincerely hope he won't open fire on us in the process." As they entered the clearing, anyone who was engaged in any level of activity stopped immediately. They whispered amongst each other, their eyes focused on the former Colonel and the soldiers behind her who were in far better health than they were. Une kept her pace equal with Sally's, both out of necessity and out of discomfort with the greeting. "I'm sorry if they're making you uncomfortable."

"I never said--"

"You don't have to say it, Une." Sally shook her head slowly. "They do the same to me, and I'm the one who brought them here."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" Une watched Sally pause and shift her eyes to a trio of children sitting around a small bonfire. They did not demonstrate the same interest in the women as the adults. They were engrossed with the flames; namely, the large rodent that was impaled by a long branch and turned slowly over the spit. Une's stomach turned briefly, forcing her to turn away as Sally heaved a deep sigh of remorse. "Their children get to feast on rodents and shuffle through a wasteland, instead of dining on the food the Federation tries to deliver."

"...You can take the Federation's supplies and not be **of** them."

"You don't understand, Une. You've been locked behind the walls of Luxembourg for too long." Sally took Une's hand and placed in her open palm, several brightly colored candies in plastic wrappings. Une frowned heavily.

"They're angry with you over sweets?"

"There's nothing 'sweet' about them." Sally snapped and led her to a make shift table: a large, dead tree stump that was hoisted and moved into the clearing. On it sat a small vial, a dish of water, and several strips. "I was able to do a make-shift test on the candies and food one cluster of survivors offered us." She held up the strip--a litmus strip--and handed it to Une. "If any substance is free of narcotics, the strip will stay white. Even the slightest trace of any narcotic will make the strip turn blue." Sally narrowed her eyes darkly. "**All** the food tested positive for high grade narcotics, Une. Even those 'sweets' in the palm of your hand. And those litmus strips are bluer than an earth sky at high noon."

Une's eyes widened in disbelief. "So you're saying that the Federation either accidentally or spitefully put drugs in the food they're delivering?? Sally, this is a rather steep accusation--"

"It's **not** an accusation if it's true!" The litmus strip was snatched from her hand. "This was no accident, Une. Think about it! Why **would** the Federation need to drug the remaining populace of the earth?? We're destitute, without any viable resources. The weather has been dismal for **years**. There's scarcely any food. We've been reduced to scavengers, all because one man used blatant force with **no** regard for human life. Then, in comes the Colonies with their convoys and their so-called 'assistance'. Those who cave in and take the supplies find themselves in need of more. The need turns desperate, feverish. And it's in that state of desperation, that state of intense need is the people the most vulnerable. Barton wants the people to be at their most vulnerable, because the weak are easier to manipulate to his own ends and lead to slaughter when he's done."

"And the best way to make the people weak is to force them into dependency." Une glanced at the candies in her palm. The pieces did fit; to deny that would have been foolish. There was a reason why Treize refused the Federation's supplies; in fact, there was more than just **one** reason. Did he suspect something of this nature before hand? Of course he would; as Sally said, he was not stupid by any means. His immense foresight is what kept them alive. But what made Une shiver deep within was the fact that Dekim Barton would even consider doing something of this nature at all: lacing precious supplies with addictive drugs and giving them to the needy population. Surely he was capable of it; though it never crossed her mind that he would actually **do** it. Une looked up at Sally, who was watching her with a detached sense of calm. After her speech, she seemed drained. Tired. Weary. Une frowned at the candies in her hand. "I believe you Sally. I believe your every word." She tipped her head at the people behind her, who had resumed their previous activities. "But...do **they** know about this?"

"No." Sally paused momentarily. "And even if they did, I doubt it would change their perspective. They don't care what's **in** the damned supplies...as long as they have it. Since I refuse to give them any of the Federation's supplies, I **have** to keep my word about finding Merquise."

"Treize will keep his word, Sally."

"Tell that to **them**. As far as they're concerned, his word isn't worth a damn. Sally snorted as she held out her hand for the candies. Une placed them in her hand and folded her arms lightly. "You should head back to Headquarters. You're probably missed by now."

"At least take these few soldiers with you. You can't do this alone."

Sally shook her head in subtle defiance. "Thank you, but no. And while I'm sure they're more than capable, it wouldn't be right. Finding Merquise is **my** problem, not theirs. I refuse to drag more people into this than necessary. ...I'll take you as far as the edge of the forest--you'll be able to make it back on your own."

The group was silent as they retraced their path through the woods and back to the edge of the open space between the woods and headquarters. Sally left quickly, giving small words of well wishes as she went. Une could only stand in silence and watch as she disappeared into the maze of dead trees and fallen tree limbs. Her chances of finding Merquise were slim. Even slimmer were her chances of her surviving the search. Either way, Une considered herself fortunate for the invaluable information she'd just received. Though Treize would be disappointed with Sally's refusal of the assistance he was willing to provide, he would be more concerned about Barton's newfound tactics. In fact, he would be beyond furious--a scene Une had no interest in revisiting.

_There is something deeper in the feud between Treize and Barton._ She cast a light scowl at the clouds, as if scowling at Barton from her spot on earth. _Deeper than the colonies, deeper than the Specials. But, what in the world is it?_

"Ma'am, look!"

She sighed heavily and was on the verge of a mild reprimand for shouting, but it was quickly cast aside at the sight of a group of six ahead of them. They were in the worst possible condition physically, and from the sound of their chatter mentally as well. They were also heavily armed; Sally made no mention of this. Did she even know? How did these people get those weapons? Answers to either and any other questions would have to wait.

They were marching on headquarters.

*******************

*Amazon, South America*

Schala lay perfectly still as the world rotated around her in a kaleidoscope of bright colors she couldn't touch. She was tired, but couldn't sleep. Hungry, but not enough to eat again for today. She didn't know how, she didn't know why; she just knew that she felt **good**. She felt content to just lie here, on the charred jungle floor and watch the patterns and colors change in front of her. If only she could reach them.

"Schala?"

"Yes mother?"

"Are you alright? Why are you staring off into space like that?"

A trembling hand pointed a single bony finger at the center of the spinning portrait. "They're so pretty. I can't touch them but...I like to watch them. I want to watch them some more."

"Watch **what**?" Her mother's voice took on a worried tone. "Schala, what are you talking about? There's nothing there!"

"You can't see it?"

Her mother heaved a sigh of annoyance and held her hand. "That's enough out of you young--my god you're burning up!"

"No I'm not..."

"Come on! I have to get you to the medic!"

"Leave me alone..." Schala started to resist; she was happy lying on the filthy ground and watching the world spin in its infinite spectrum of color. The resistance soon turned into a full blown battle that had her mother screaming for the other adults. The sudden shift to unwarranted self defense brought pain to Schala's left side. Something beneath her skin wouldn't sit still. Before she could raise her hands to push away her mother, she was soon held stock still by her father, and carted off to the medic screaming for her kaleidoscope as she went.

*****************

Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave a review if you haven't already. Thanks again!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Summary: In a world where Operation Meteor is a success, Treize Kushrenada finds he has more to worry about than surviving the wasteland that earth has become. NON YAOI. NON ROMANCE.

******************

Chapter 10

*Countryside*

"Who were you speaking to?"

Miliardo watched Chandler lower her head in obvious shame and guilt. Marx and Otto sat on either side of him. According to Otto and several witnesses, the teenager was seen leaving the rear of an unoccupied communications truck. She then stalked into the woods--towards the road--and a strange individual clad in all black was waiting. The grenade was thrown when the mysterious person felt they were discovered. They escaped at Chandler's expense.

Also, it was not wise to hold a public interrogation as initially planned. Too many people felt negatively about the newfound situation, and were all too ready to take aim at Chandler. He empathized with them entirely, but violence against her would only complicate the matter more.

"I need to know who you were speaking to, Chandler."

"I just want to go home."

"Three people saw you stalk into the woods to meet someone, and **they** threw a stun grenade when they were noticed." He said as calmly as he could manage; he was losing his patience quickly. "You're fortunate it was **only** a stun grenade and not something more lethal. Now, tell me what faction they're with!"

She shook her head slowly. "I'm really tired..."

"Chandler, this is important. Answer the question!"

"...Can I be excused?"

He and Marx traded glances of disbelief. Marx leered at the teenager, who'd gone to rubbing her eyes with fatigue. "Chandler. My techs managed to get a look at the logs of the workstations you used before the incident. They clearly state you sent a communiqué to a Colonial Federation installation deep in the woods to **meet you at the road**. If this is true, then it means that you're in league with them somehow--"

"Which is why you're feigning exhaustion--" The pair froze when she yawned loudly with outstretched arms, and his anger got the best of him before he could quell it. "Are you even **listening**!? We could all be **dead by dawn** if you don't tell us what in the world you're doing making contact with the Federation!"

"Sir, this is going nowhere." Otto whispered into his ear. "Whatever incentive she has to keep quiet is greater than we can ever hope to give."

"It's also letting her play us for fools...which she's been doing for quite sometime by the look of it." Marx snapped. "So Chandler, what are you being **paid** in exchange for having us sit here and shout at you as if we're fucking insane?"

"...I'm sorry, Ma'am. But I'm not your subordinate and not really under any obligation to answer that."

_What in the hell…?_ Something was wrong. The Chandler he knew was all too spineless, too compliant and docile to fire back so bluntly. "Chandler, she is a senior officer--the **most** senior this group! Answer the question!" Silence followed, which he took as confirmation of the growing suspicion that she was hardly **his** subordinate anymore than Marx's. "Alright, let's try something else." Miliardo leaned forward on the table. "Just how long have you been a member of the Federation, Chandler?"

"I'm not under any obligation to--"

An arm snapped outward and brought her to his eye level. She was gaping at him in shock--he barely heard Marx and Otto move to separate them, but whatever gesture he made forced the pair to keep their distance.

"This game of yours has gone on long enough! If you want to **live**, it would behoove you to answer each and every goddamn question we ask you."

"The Federation is going to win--"

"Continue to tell yourself that. Now answer the question: how long have you been a member of the Federation? Also, who **are** you and **why** are you following us??"

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"You're right; don't say a word. I could just kill you and be done with it OR, let the angry mob outside this building tear you apart. But considering you've played me for an ass for so long, ending your existence would be showing **leniency**. And you already know first hand that I no longer have the capacity for **leniency**. Make this situation easier for yourself and everyone here--"

Warm fluid struck his eye; with it unraveled every thread of restraint he had left.

She was thrown back into the chair and fell to the ground loudly. He was barely over the table when Chandler shot to her feet and leveled a pistol in his direction. Otto fired a shot into her shoulder, but she maintained her stance until Marx materialized from his flank. A small object left her hand and attached to the teen's side. The pistol fell from her hands instantly as she clawed at the device to no avail. She was soon on the floor, eyes wide and convulsing for several moments before finally becoming still.

Miliardo wiped the spit from his face and glared heavily. "Yet another goddamn lapse in my judgment. Treize would skin me alive if he knew of this."

"I think he'd be **glad** you were alive to **be** skinned in the first place!" Marx quipped as she knelt to retrieve the circular item. "What a **bitch**. And a Federation rat to boot, it seems."

"What did you hit her with?"

"One of the new 'toys' we took from the Feds: anti-personnel grenades filled with a cocktail of neurological toxins. You can either throw it by hand or fire it from a grenade launcher. They call it a "spider round" because of the way it attaches to the body and attacks your nervous system." She rose to her feet and toed Chandler lightly. "She's not quiet dead yet, but she will be in another minute. Once it gets to her heart, it's a wrap."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "How did you know to keep one with you?"

"When I was told this wretch was giving everyone **else** grief when she woke up. Said she was acting strange, trying to run off. They brought her in here kicking and screaming." she shook her head slowly. "The techs confirmed that she **did** contact a Federation base...I figured I'd give one of their toys a try on **her** if she got out of line with us. Looks like I did us justice; anything else and we'd be dead as she's **going** to be."

"This is a...rather **nasty** "toy", Marx."

"It's nasty, but **effective**. Her brain will be a puddle of shit in a few seconds."

_Obviously_. He thought as blood started to pool in Chandler's eyes. It hardly mattered, though. Whomever she was reporting to was fully aware of their plans up until they were discovered waiting for her in the trees. The possibility that Barton knew their exact location was becoming increasingly likely, since she did make contact with a Federation base according to Marx's technicians. There was also the chance that this individual was aware of their plans to travel to the detachment Marx overran.

"Do you believe she passed on any information to this base she contacted?"

"Not likely; it was more of a call to meet with her than a message. I'll double check with the techs." She frowned at the red-gray fluid that started to seep from the girl's ears. "In the meantime, let's get her **out** of here before she drips all over the damned place. Ugh, it's already starting to smell. Be careful not to touch that either. Skin contact is all that stuff needs to kill you too."

"We can't stay here much longer, Marx." He said strongly as he grabbed Chandler by the feet; Marx and Otto took her by an arm each. "If she's truly from the Federation, remaining here would be a fool's errand."

"We could leave for my base, but we'll have to do it ASAP." She swallowed hard as the stench intensified. "**Or** make a break for headquarters. Either way, they're going to have a fix on us and we're going to be followed."

"How many more of these spider rounds do you have with you?"

"There's enough to bring down about a thousand; the same for everything else."

"Then let them follow us." They heaved the decaying body through the foyer and past the mob. "**Stand aside**! **You**: dig a hole. Someone bring the lighter fluid. **Hurry up**. ...We'll use their own weapons against them; stop them in their tracks. How long before we reach headquarters?"

"With the vehicles, it'll take about four days. But you do realize we'll get there **after** Barton deploys his fancy mobile suits."

"I'm more interested in getting away from **this place** than racing Barton's mobile suits. We'll deal with them when the time comes." Chandler's body was thrown into the fresh ditch; kerosene was rained on her and a match followed. After a slow start light, heat, and the all too familiar scent of a charred flesh filled the air. "It goes without saying the plan was to keep us here long enough for the Federation to make their appearance."

"Yeah, well...I've got something for those sons of bitches if they show up anyway."

She led him away from the pyre and to the rear of one of the several vehicles parked in front of the building. She clamored inside and shoved her hands inside one of the crates blindly. Moments later she pulled out a short barreled rifle that by appearance alone surpassed anything considered "military issue". Marx gazed at it briefly, before turning and tossing it to Miliardo casually. He caught it and frowned.

"And this is...?"

"A pet project I'd been toying with since 192, but the concept dates back to the 20th century. ...It works by exciting matter, ionizing, condensing and firing that ionized matter as a beam or a midget version of a lightening bolt."

He raised an eyebrow at her in combined disbelief and skepticism. It was known that she was a weapons and ordinance specialist. But Miliardo knew nothing of the development aspect of her expertise. "And you built this because...?"

"I was asked to." She shrugged lightly. "Ammunition costs money. OZ spent billions a year to keep the weapons firing. We needed a more cost-effective yet strong enough means for our soldiers to engage in combat outside of a mobile suit. That weapon in your hands is a **non-projectile** weapon; it'll **never** need ammunition. It's infinitely more lethal than even your most powerful anti-personnel rounds, and more destructive. It's powered by cells that can be charged with a portable solar-powered unit that's trapped in the testing stage. You can get off about 400 shots with that, before you start to lose power."

"What sort of weapon **is** this?" He snapped and sighted the air around them. "This is out of a fairy tale, Marx; the technology is hardly available for it. It's hard to believe you've crafted this at all."

"Well, believe it because Treize sanctioned it. Personally."

Miliardo raised his eyes to her, hoping she was using him as an excuse, or telling the truth. Her face was set in stone; she was deathly serious.

"I thought you two couldn't stand the sight of each other."

"We couldn't. But business is business, and MY business is weapons."

_There's more, isn't there?_ "And he ordered this fantasy weapon to be built?"

"It works, Merquise. It's no fantasy." She shook her head strongly. "You're holding humanity's first **operational** beam weapon: the Mayorga 100." Marx smiled thinly. "And **you'll** be the first to use it. Congratulations!"

*****************

*Luxembourg*

"Une has yet to return."

Noin and Treize moved quickly through the halls, carrying heavy rifles and nearly a dozen clips of ammunition each.

"While she can more than fend for herself, dark has fallen and she's not prepared to deal with these savages."

"That's if they even attack her, **or** us." Noin added strongly as they left the foyer and stepped into the cold air. It sent a shock of a shiver down her spine, but she made no show of it. "Maybe the note was a bluff. I highly doubt they have the cohesion, let alone experience or **sanity** necessary to even try to attack us."

"Perhaps, but it's no reason **not** to take every possible precaution."

"And that's why you and I are going out to fetch Une ourselves."

Despite his silence, the answer was a blunt "yes" as they stopped at a makeshift barrier and half a dozen soldiers standing at its opening.

"You all have your orders. If enough time has gone by and we haven't returned yet, **do** **not** come searching for us; continue to defend the compound at all costs. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir!"

"That's a bit extreme, isn't it Treize?"

"As I said before: we're taking every possible precaution." He narrowed his eyes. "The slightest hint that I am not present will send the message that OZ is for the taking. A constant and prominent defensive stance kills that illusion."

"For whom: the cannibals or Barton?"

"Both."

They had left the barrier in their tracks and the compound started to diminish in size as they approached the forest edge. Seeing Treize in this constant state of tension was nothing new. It was always like this in the past, just before a campaign of any level regardless of its location. Should he be personally involved, one could **almost** hear him grinding his teeth out of restlessness. Especially if Romefeller was at his heels, demanding that he return to his desk and stay there.

Noin was surprised Treize wasn't ripping his hair out at the fact that Barton had him--and the rest of the earth--in the palm of his hand.

After all, it was no secret that his family and the Barton clan had no goodwill for each other. The reasons for the conflict were only known to those involved. Noin never asked; dissent between nobles was a concept she was **not** familiar with. Her family was small, close-knit and had no rivals despite the slew of illustrious military and political careers in each generation. They were barely of the nobility, and were content to keep it that way.

But bloodlines, relations, and rank within the aristocracy were hardly an issue anymore. The nobility on earth for all it was worth was dead. Had she been of a more influential family, it wouldn't have changed her decision to become a soldier.

And it certainly would **not** have stopped Operation Meteor.

"Can't see anything in this shit." she hissed at the pitch darkness as she lowered the night vision visors over her eyes. The world was instantly painted in a scheme of monochrome green with clarity equal to that of perfect 20/20 vision. "Just how far is Sally's group?"

"Less than a quarter of a mile in, I'd say. It hardly took her long to be brought to us, and I doubt it took her any longer to get back to her crew."

"Just what happened during that conversation, if you don't mind me asking?"

She barely heard him snort in what seemed like irritation. "Besides her taking shots at me personally? Well, she offered to find Miliardo for us in three days. Though, I highly doubt she'll accomplish that in so little time with no leads."

"Apparently she thinks she can find him anyway, if she's gone on ahead."

"Apparently so."

"And what role does Une play in all this?"

Treize sighed mildly. "I sent her after Sally with half a dozen men to help her. Despite my skepticism and annoyance with her, I **do** have some measure of faith that she'll find him. OR, that the soldiers I assigned to her will find him should she be killed. Une was supposed to return after leaving them with Sally."

"I see."

"Is there a problem?"

"You mean besides just the two of us stalking into the woods **and** into whatever potential trap these thieves and-or cannibals have in store for us?" Noin shrugged. "Not really. If Sally fails, Miliardo can more than fend for himself; I'm hardly worried about that. What I **am** concerned about is how we can counter Barton's propaganda as we are. Especially since the populace is starting to willingly buy into it."

"I've been wondering about that myself. Without the necessary resources, it **will** be a trial. It could be **years** before we make any amount of progress in revealing the truth behind Barton's plans." A snicker of irony. "Believe it or not...I **almost** wish Marx was here."

Noin raised an eyebrow. "Why? So she could curse him into submission?"

"Hardly: despite her foul demeanor, she was an expert in her field. Such an expert, that when she finally made General, I ousted the previous commanding officer of the ordinance base in Siberia and put **her** in his place in 193." He shook his head slightly. "She was not only a demolitions specialist, but a researcher **and** developer of all levels of artillery and ammunition. Shortly after the change in command, the quality of our weapons increased dramatically. Combined with ties to the Sweepers--and thus, an infinite and **free** supply of materials--it spared me having to create more imaginative accounts to disguise any additional spending on her behalf. ...We broke even, and the arguments reduced to a minimum."

"That's quite generous; I thought you two hated each other."

"We did. But there's reason for that." Treize trailed off into silence, focusing on navigating the fallen limbs at their feet. Noin was poised to ask what the reason or reasons, but decided not to pry. Although she knew him fairly well, there was a great deal about him that she would **never** know. Not merely because she wouldn't ask, but because he would go silent the moment the subject went farther than he preferred. It was no different from before the colonies fell; Miliardo was the same way, to a higher degree. Even she was guilty of retreating when conversations became too personal to continue. It seemed a common habit among the leadership within OZ and the Specials in general, to shut down when too much of them selves were on the verge of being revealed. It was a defense mechanism made irreparable thanks to psychological conditioning by the military and a lifetime of war and violence.

_Some things will never change._

"Treize, just how do you think she'll be of use?"

"...She could have laid out a minefield around the compound." He sounded grateful for the subtle shift in subject. "She could also assist in planning an assault on the minor Federation installations in the area. Strategy, leadership, combat experience; Marx's abilities are not limited only to explosives and weapons."

Noin offered a slight nod. "Maybe she's alive, then."

"Knowing her? Of course she's alive." he waved in mock dismissal. "That woman is indestructible. I would hardly be surprised if she was on her way here, armed with an entire lecture about failure to maintain a defensive--"

She saw what he heard, and they both jumped behind the trees closest to them. A group of six was a head of them, looking ragged, filthy and far from sane. They were armed with near archaic assault rifles; toys in comparison to their own. What made them lethal, however, was the fact that they lacked night vision scopes OR headgear. They were essentially blind, yet ready to fire at anything that fired at **them**.

"Be damned if we survive this."

"Have some faith, Lu."

"I have more concern than anything!" She snapped a round into the chamber and dropped to a crouch as she peered through the scope. They were far, but zooming in on the newfound targets made eliminating them easier. Maybe it was too easy. Noin was already a sharpshooter before this madness; picking off the rabidly insane one by one was equal to child's play. "They're in range. Ready when you are."

While the first bullet struck the leading target and sent them falling in a shower of blood and flesh, the questions were starting to become endless. From the nature of the feud between Treize and Barton, whether or not Miliardo would be found, and now to his connections to Marx--which were apparently deeper than initially perceived. Noin heaved a quiet sigh and rested her sights on the next target who was fool enough to try to run towards them. They were cut down at the knees, and then finished with a round to the chest.

The answers to her many questions would have to come later.

Reinforcements appeared in the distance.

****************

To those who are still with me, thank you for reading this far! No, **seriously.** Thanks! This is slowly becoming more epic than I initially arranged, and I'm all too happy to share it. Thanks again!

Priestess Mika


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Summary: In a world where Operation Meteor is a success, Treize Kushrenada finds he has more to worry about than surviving the wasteland that earth has become. NON YAOI. NON ROMANCE.

*********************

Chapter 11

*Countryside*

Though the hour was indeterminable, the darkness was intense--more so when sitting in the auspices of a single flashlight.

Sally was seated on the ground, with her head rested on her folded hands in clear discontent. The flashlight was planted into the soft ground at an angle that cast so its light was cast on her. She had kept herself distant from her crew, who had voiced their displeasure in the decision she made with their welfare in mind. They also demonstrated supreme disinterest in finding Zechs Merquise. It hardly surprised her, but she had been hoping it would incite them to be more ambitious about somehow improving their situation.

They were more interested in the Federation supplies Sally spitefully kept hidden.

With the food being loaded with every addictive stimulant possible, she couldn't allow them to have it. No matter how much they threatened or pleaded with her. The location of the massive crate was exactly where it was dropped; half a mile **north **of their position. It was also completely sealed, with the tools to open it thrown into a one of several 30 foot ditches in the woods. All that was kept were another crate that contained their weapons, flashlights, matches, batteries and charcoal. They would **all **go hungry again tonight.

She heaved a low sigh of contempt.

_'I know you have your reasons. But the way you shut us out...it would have been less grief for both of us if you just said the word "no"._'

The argument with the newly erratic general troubled her from the moment she left his presence. Sally figured he would AT **least **house them **away **from his own personnel; apparently, he had little intention of assisting **anyone**. She did not want to insult Treize, let alone use finding Merquise to weight their verbal battle in her favor. Though she knew little of him, when she heard of what he was planning in the face of the Romefeller Foundation, she had nothing but respect for the man. However, playing his own frustrations against him was the only way to make him **listen**. At least, he listened **enough **that he agreed to give her three days to find his friend.

_Three days will hardly be enough time and he knows it. But if finding Merquise dead or alive is enough for him to help us, then so be it._ She went into her pocket for the watch he'd given her before leaving. The device was in relatively pristine condition, and was of high quality. It was no doubt a family heirloom, with a coat of arms was embossed with exquisite detail on its pewter surface. Though faint, the watch's trademark 'tick' could be heard, even in the palm of her hands. Its value was unquestionable, both in regards to aesthetics **and **its owner. In handling the watch it snapped open and small, folded leaflets fell to the soil at her crossed legs. Even in the dim light, it was clear that some were dated with age. Sally retrieved one and gently opened it; her shoulders fell sharply.

It was a photo Treize as a child--ten years, at the oldest. The trademark pale eyes of the Kushrenada bloodline were unmistakable. Next to him stood a younger boy, who seemed sullen and grim. He also looked quite exhausted, his bright blonde hair entangled and dark circles around his blue eyes. They appeared to be trapped in conversation, Treize's hand on the smaller child's shoulder in a consoling gesture.

_It's Merquise!_

Another revealed the pair at an older age, engaged in horseplay typical of young boys. In the third, they looked like grown men in their military uniforms but still retained the final traces of their youth. The last photo was clearly taken just before the colonies fell. They were adults, strikingly handsome and casual both in clothing and demeanor. To the average person, they appeared to be nothing more than close friends. However, it was obvious in the previous photos that they were not only friends, but **family **as well.

_Small wonder he was so irritable._ She frowned heavily as she refolded the images and returned them to their place within the watch. _It also explains why Barton is the least of his worries; worrying about his friend in addition to keeping what's left of his faction intact is driving him mad. It'd drive ANYONE mad._

Sally had already resolved to find Merquise regardless. However, her reasons for doing so where hardly out of self-preservation anymore. Now it would be a favor--likely a thankless one, but she'd willingly accept that. She would find another way to survive, with or without his assistance. The watch was returned to her pocket and she gathered what she would need for her solo mission, since not a single person in her group would join her. She preferred it, really; the majority was civilians, and none had an ounce of field experience whatsoever. They would be nothing but a hindrance and slow her down.

Satisfied she was carrying a week's worth of supplies and as much ammunition as possible, Sally shouldered her assault rifle and gave a brief glance of disdain at the group in the distance. As they did night after night, they huddled around a weak fire and complained about her withholding the foodstuffs delivered by the colonies. When someone offered siding with the collective that all but exterminated them, the group became raucous.

'Want to join the Federation so badly? Just remember that you were warned.'

She stalked into the woods and navigated her way to the remains of an old highway and started eastward, with the miniscule flashlight as her only beacon. If she moved quickly enough, she could put half a day between herself and the latest band of Colonial Federation loyalists.

**************************

*Luxembourg*

The borrowed night vision visors came to life and Une watched one of the vagrants ahead of them fall in a spray of blood and flesh.

"**TAKE COVER!!"**

Three shots followed, each one followed by a "wet" explosion. The fourth missed their target and ricochet off the wood just above her head. _A sniper is out there; if we so much as think of moving away from our position we'll be cut down!_

"Ma'am we're going to be pinned here--"

"We already **are **pinned here!" Another round struck their target and bounced off the wood of another tree nearby: tell tale sign of an exit wound. "Listen: **split up **and circle the group ahead of us--"

"But we'll be killed--"

"**Shut up**. Split up and approach on either flank; tell them who we are and to **cease fire**!"

There was a grown of protest but the shuffle of feet was proof of compliance. She expected trouble, but not to be caught off guard by it and so close to Headquarters. Une was silently hoping that whoever was shooting at the group ahead of them, were members of OZ. At least, they should be considering how long she'd been gone--knowing that Treize wouldn't risk losing personnel, he'd send a search party.

Or worse, do the searching himself.

Une admitted a long time ago that Treize was irreparably changed since the colonies fell. It was not to say that he was half the man he **used **to be; rather, something within him...unhinged. Unhinged enough to throw him into periods of pure and unadulterated rage that made everyone scatter when situations or problems ran completely afoul. Unhinged enough to find him by himself most times, deathly silent and refusing to confide in anyone. At least, not to Une. He was always a private individual, but he was even more withdrawn now that the world was in shambles. It became hard to tell if he was on edge or if he was distant, or heaven forbid somewhere in between and therefore approachable. As the primary bearer of good or bad news, Une often kept her distance regardless of his disposition. He could gut an entire room with his bare hands if he was beyond more "amiable" moods; she had no interest in bearing witness to that if she could manage it. Let alone prying for a response when he fell completely silent.

It was obvious that something happened at Headquarters for this wave of gunfire, however. A sniper was definitely present, but the sound of the caliber of the rifle was louder than the other. The accuracy was also above and beyond pinpoint, raising the possibility that it **was **Treize on the other side of the nearly slain group of savages.

Wasting bullets was never an option for him.

The gunfire ceased almost as quickly as it started. Even at her distance she could hear a familiar tenor snarl in an impatient, almost bullying tone. Hardly surprising, considering that the last two days has been nothing but problem after problem on top of many others.

"Une, are you here??" She slid from her hiding place and stepped into Noin's path. The Ensign looked terribly fragile; how she managed to function in this capacity after all she'd been through was beyond Une's comprehension. Then again, Une did not spend years traveling on foot from one continent to the other. Nor did she lose an entire institution in the process. Noin sighed quietly in relief and motioned for her to follow. "At least you're alright. Let's head back before he tears this forest apart looking for you."

"Has something happened?"

"Treize thinks a ring of cannibals is going to attack headquarters." She rolled her eyes slightly. "I think it's a bluff, but he's taking it so seriously it's almost unnerving. The entire compound is on alert."

"He's right to believe it; it won't be the first time this has happened, and they're not exactly coherent."

"Of course not! Anyone sane wouldn't even try--"

"No, no, that's not what I mean." Une pulled her aside. "Listen to me. ...I spoke to Sally, shortly before you all came out here. She claims the supplies sent by the Federation are drugged--"

"What are you talking about!?"

"Keep your voice down!"

"Une, what in the hell is going on?"

"I don't know myself, but Sally has no reason to lie about anything. The Federation is drugging the populace!" Une shook her head for silence when she moved to counter. "**Listen**. Barton plans to turn every person here into laborers; slaves including US! The propaganda wouldn't work on its own, so he's planted narcotics in the supplies to force the public to sway in his favor!"

Noin frowned heavily and pointed at the newly slain vagrants. "So you're saying **they **were...?" A nod of confirmation. "How did Sally find that out??"

"A residue test; how she managed it, I'm not sure but I saw it and she's **right**."

"What is he putting it in: the water or the food itself?"

"It's in the candy he's delivering for the children."

"What the does candy have to do with it--" Une watched the pieces fall into place in Noin's eyes; she bit her lip and looked at the carnage behind her, shifted to the ground beneath her feet and finally back at Une with a face of pure concern. "Has the people in her group--"

"They know what's in it, but she won't allow them to have it. But at the rate she's going, they're likely to turn on her if she doesn't find Merquise in three days."

"Wait, so Treize doesn't know what's being done to the supplies? I thought he knew this!"

Une shook her head slowly. "That...negotiation did not go very well. She never had the chance to tell him."

"Rather--knowing Treize as well as we do--he didn't **give **her the chance to tell him."

The silence that fell was one of agreement. He'd unintentionally made the situation more difficult than it needed to be. Dragging Noin out into the woods to find Une certainly complicated things--he couldn't be in two places at once, despite knowing that anyone with good sense would be able to tell if he's vacated Headquarters. If she had the capacity, Une would have strangled him for acting so haphazardly. Not merely because it was completely out of his character, but for the fact that he raised their vulnerability tenfold in an attempt to make it appear lower than what it truly was.

_OZ for the damned taking and he doesn't even know it!!_ "You said headquarters was on high alert?"

"He's practically prepared for a war--" Noin's face fell to the ground. "If those savages are in league with the colonies then--"

"We need to head back. Now!"

They barely stepped away from their position when the ground shook beneath them and wrapped them in a blanket of heavy smoke.

****************

Thanks for reading! If you haven't left a review yet, please, go right ahead and do so! Thanks a lot!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Summary: In a world where Operation Meteor is a success, Treize Kushrenada finds he has more to worry about than surviving the wasteland that earth has become. NON YAOI. NON ROMANCE.

*********************

Chapter 12

*Luxembourg*

Treize was dragging the lifeless body of one of his soldiers away from the blast area.

The explosion came out of nowhere.

He was on the verge of plotting a path back to headquarters, when the mortar came from the ether and separated them all. While the round fell what looked like twenty feet away, the force was enough to bathe them all in shrapnel and fatally injure the sole casualty of the group. Night vision visors fused to his face and abdomen split open, he died immediately; there was no saving him.

"Sir...he deserves a proper burial. We can't leave him like this!"

"I know that. But we cannot afford to carry him right **anywhere** right now." he said strongly as he folded their arms across their chest and rose to his feet. "In the meantime, we find Une and Noin. Afterward, we--"

It was faint, but he heard it: the familiar whine of airborne ordinance that quickly rose in volume.

They all dove for cover and was blanketed in soil from the impact.

"**Scatter**!!"

He listened to the others run off yet remained on the ground. His visors flickered angrily before finally settling and giving him pale green smoke to leer at. After several moments, it cleared just enough to notice two figures stumbling over the forest floor towards him. Silhouettes in the agitating monochromes of night vision, Une and Noin emerged from the bog and pulled him to his feet.

"What the hell is going on??"

"Damned if I know!"

They scrambled deeper into the trees and further **away** from headquarters. Something was clearly happening for them to be ambushed like this. Was this even intentional? What if the compound was under attack and this was nothing but rounds gone astray? The questions had to be pushed aside for now as they entered a clearing that appeared to have been inhabited. Une trotted forward with fallen shoulders.

"Everyone's gone?"

"Who are you talking about?"

"Sally and the others...they were **just** here!"

Treize shook his head and surveyed the area: the dying remnants of a bonfire smoldered in the center of the clearing. Refuse was strewn about along with the presence of an open supply crate--a replica of the one left within the range of recon earlier. But there was no delivery of death or the threat of it with this one: it was clean. **Empty**. Just like the open area and it had been this way for a short time.

_Already marching to her death._

A ripple of explosions made them snap their heads to the trees behind them; it ended as quickly as it started. Muffled voices made him narrow his eyes and motion for them to hide.

"If we wait any longer, it'll take hell to get back."

"I'd rather have hell going back than be in a rush and end up dead."

Leering from his position behind several fallen trees, Treize took notice of the group that stumbled forward. They were sluggish and staggered over every minor obstacle in their path: no earth-borne individual or those accustomed to the gravity on the stricken planet would be as clumsy.

_Colonists._

They tripped over the terrain, the ragged forest floors obviously unfamiliar to them. The 'leader' of the group had little trouble shoving their way to the front and craning their head to scan the area.

"You said you saw them go this way, correct?"

The voice was slightly nasal but too recognizable for comfort.

"Yes Ma'am, but they've vanished."

"Then go into the trees and **search**!"

"We've only been here three hours---we need time to adjust to the gravity, ma'am!"

They grabbed the voice of the group by the throat and glared heavily. "My uncle is **out** there, and **you're** going to find him: do you understand?? If he dies at the hands of the Federation because of **your** inability to adapt then I will have your head as just compensation!" She shoved him aside and jabbed a finger at the opposite end of the clearing. "Go: and don't come back until you find him!"

Begrudgingly, the group surged ahead and left her standing alone. She was clearly and foolishly unarmed, hardly flinching at the rumble of explosions taking place behind her. Her blond hair was bright even through night vision and her uniform had seen better times. She also had **his** trademark pale eyes.

_Dorothy??_

"I know you're out here, Treize." She shouted over the noise. "I'm **not** your enemy. The Federation has placed your base under martial law--no one has been injured. Not yet."

"Treize, what game is she playing at!" Noin hissed into his ear. "Whose side is she on?"

"I don't know." Treize frowned. "But if she knows I'm out here then there have been more holes in the ranks than I initially thought. Or, she's finally become expert at putting herself where she doesn't belong."

"They're holding your personnel hostage in exchange for you to surrender." She made a gesture that appeared to be one of defeat. "Just come out of hiding and we'll discuss what to do--I will **not** turn you over to the Federation. I have **no** affiliation with them at all. You have my word."

Une shook her head warily. "She can't be serious! What if this is a charade to have us arrested, even murdered??"

"Then we shift the charade to work in **our** favor."

When Dorothy's charges reappeared, she waved at them in dismissal and they left her behind. She stood there, alone and vulnerable for a long time before turning on her heel and walking towards the trees. Treize was already feet away from her, Une and Noin's warnings left in the winds leveling his rifle at the back of his niece's head. He could pull the trigger and never have to deal with her again. Her bloodhounds would undoubtedly come looking for her, and they could be dealt with easily. However, it would be easier--and beneficial--to seize her. If she was working for any collective that valued her life, they would be more than willing to negotiate. Dorothy must have sensed his intentions: she turned her head and regarded him with a mild nod, her voice barely above a whisper.

"There you are, uncle. ...It's been a long time."

******************

*Countryside*

Marx was true to every letter of her word.

The weapon she gifted Miliardo with was as lethal and violent as she claimed it was.

The journey to the base was event-less, with the exception of a band of thieves--most likely cannibals--foolishly attempting to chase the convoy with a rundown flatbed truck. They were easily dispatched with one round of the prototype: the air crackled and raised the hair on his skin before discharging and splitting the pursuing vehicle in half. The explosion slaughtered its inhabitants and set ablaze anything remotely flammable. If the Federation witnessed the incident, they had no inclination to follow. At least for now, they didn't.

At the moment, Marx was maneuvering the communications truck with ease and softly singing an archaic rock song about watchtowers in a low soprano that was haunting yet appealing. She seemed in better spirits since incinerating the estate in their departure hours ago. It was decided it would be best to erase their tracks, despite what happened with Chandler. If anyone, Federation or not decided to show hostility, they would be dealt with as necessary. Marx was ecstatic at the prospect of wonton violence—she was apparently bored to tears planning strategy. According to her personnel, she kept to herself **frequently**: locking herself away during lulls in travel and operations was common behavior. Reasons for her isolation were left to speculation. Her interactions with Miliardo however was the **most** sociable she'd been in very long time, it seemed. That was most likely due to the disparity in age and authority within her group. Not only was she the most senior in rank, she was also the most senior in age as well. While the youth discussed topics that were typical of their age group, Marx had no one to discuss "adult" topics with. Miliardo was as close to her in either respect for the time being.

"Merquise, I want to apologize for my behavior earlier in the bathroom."

"It's nothing. You said it was something you were used to."

"Bullshit. I use working in ordinance as an excuse for being rude way too often. While you're **great** to look at and it's the most action I've had in **years**, gaping at you like a teenage girl was wrong. So, I'm sorry."

"Once upon a time, you **never** would have apologized."

"Don't be so sure of yourself. What you saw before all this shit happened was a front; what you see **now** is who I really am." She shook her head. "I don't have much of a reason to be an asshole anymore, so I'm back to my quiet and borderline introverted ways unless I have to perform as a soldier. Had you stood in front of me naked **back then**, I probably would've left you standing there. Then again, I was involved with someone at that time, so my leaving you and all your nude glory would've been automatic."

Miliardo raised an eyebrow; just how many layers did this woman hide behind? "I had no idea--"

"Not many would. I got married just after landing in Siberia at the end of 193. My married name is 'Marx'. My maiden name is 'Mayorga'. **Princess** Kayline Helena Marie Mayorga of Brazil...in title, at least." A dismissive gesture transitioned into a search for cigarettes. Pungent smoke quickly filled the cab. "Just like you, I've got nothing to rule anymore. Even if I did, I wouldn't know what the hell to do with it. I wasn't interested in taking the throne as a kid, and I was even less interested as an adult. Despite all the trouble I caused in OZ, I was **happy **there and I wasn't going to trade it for anything. Not even for Brazil."

"I can't say I empathize with you. Sanc was destroyed early in my childhood, so I hardly had time to decide whether or not I had an interest in succeeding my father." He sighed mildly. "Treize would ask me from time to time back then, but I would always decline. I had already strayed too far from the ideals of pacifism to even consider going back there."

"You would at least lay claim to your birthright—"

"As what: a hypocrite who knows nothing but war and violence? I would have been made a tool and nothing more, **if** the Alliance found use in Sanc's revival. Otherwise, I would have been murdered to keep the slaughter under wraps."

"I see your point." Her shoulders fell gently. "Did you…even **want** to join OZ?"

"No. But Treize and I agreed it would be an easy cover."

"Was it easier than wearing that stupid mask?"

Miliardo smiled ruefully. "I looked too much like my father to walk freely in public."

"Must have been a pain to hide that pretty face of yours; must have isolated you from everyone as well."

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm not the only one who keeps to themselves these days. The minute things settle down, you vanish into the ether. It sounds too much like **me, **when I had my first brush with the world beyond Brazil. That **was** me for a long time, until—"

Miliardo turned see to a frown appear on her face and deepen gradually. "Until…?"

She remained silent for several moments, but he could certainly sense there was something amiss. With a shake of the head she pulled hard on the cigarette and exhaled a plume that created a thick fog within the cab.

"You can ask Treize when you see him."

"What does **he** have to do with you?"

"…Everything." The word was hissed, not spoken. It was well known throughout OZ that the two did not get along, as authority figures **or** individuals. But what Miliardo did remember of the two—and he did not mention—is that they **did** get on quite well in the beginning. Something happened between them to inspire the conflict that would all but die entirely when she left Brussels for Siberia. As great as the temptation to press for answers was, he resisted. Judging by her demeanor, the subject was closed for further discussion and Marx waved it off casually. "At any rate, we need to talk about a few things before we get to the base in another…" Her eyes briefly lowered to the display behind the wheel. "Two hours. First is the individual that traitorous little failure of conception was talking to. While you and I were trying to figure out what the hell happened, a few of my people took off in search of this clown. Turns out, they **are** from the Federation; at least it seems that way. Seeing how we're trying to avoid being murdered-or-executed, further investigation has been stonewalled."

"So we're **not** being followed by the Federation."

"We're not being followed by anyone stupid enough to be obvious about it. A lot of people are using our new environment as a means to establish themselves as the superior collective on earth. OZ isn't the only one."

"We're not out for superiority."

"You, Treize and I are fully aware of that. But our making a play for establishment let alone authority isn't going to convince anyone else to sit idle."

_It's also enough to push Barton's hand, if it __**is**__ us doing the pushing to begin with. _"So as it stands, the Federation is not an issue."

"Not an **immediate** issue. Of course we have Barton's mobile suits to worry about, but as we've said previously that's a bridge we'll cross later."

"Then our priority is to collect what we need from this base of yours and get to Headquarters as soon as possible." He earned a concurring nod from Marx. "How long will it take us to get there?"

"I can't promise you an overnight trip, but we'll aim for three days."

"Good enough."

"I've been meaning to ask you, how did the Mayorga-100 handle?"

"For a weapon named after a tyrannical regime, it handles well. It's light but the scope needs adjusting." Miliardo frowned heavily. "It could also stand to be more **subtle**. Stopping those madmen was one thing, but starting a brush fire was unnecessary."

"I figured you'd say that. I'll take care of it when things settle down what the** fuck is that**!?"

The entire convoy came to a halt. The cause for stopping was what appeared to be thirty people shuffling across the open road, carrying children or whatever had been deemed their possessions in their hands. They were hardly stirred by the bright headlights: each person followed the one in front of them with their heads hung low, trailing individuals who carried weak flashlights and dying oil lamps to mark their path. If anything was being said among them, the soundproofing of the cab and the distance between the two collectives rendered their speech inaudible.

"Who **are** they?" Marx whispered. "Where are they going?"

"Is there anywhere to go in this area?"

"A couple of towns, but they're nothing but rubble." The procession continued for several minutes, until a handful of stragglers finally bolted from one side of the road to the other. Afterward, there was no one else but the trucks and their occupants out in the open. "Should we follow them?"

Miliardo knew precisely what it was; he'd been that person carrying the dying flashlight with his group dragging their feet behind him. They had **been** this collective but a day before. They too moved from ruined town to ruined town until the estate. This was no mere procession of broken individuals.

This was survival taking place.

"No. Don't follow them."

"What if—"

"We're in the **Federation's** vehicles and uniforms. We'll scare them off before being able to help them and they're hardly as defeated as they look. ...They'll be fine."

"You've been out there, you'd know better than I would." She said gently and set the truck back in motion. "Are you sure they'll be alright, though? They didn't look as if they were doing so well."

"Have some faith, Marx." He caught a brief glimpse of the tail end of the march he knew so well disappear into the trees as they rumbled past. "They'll manage."

***********************

Thanks for reading! If you haven't left a review yet, please do so. Thanks again! ^^


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Summary: In a world where Operation Meteor is a success, Treize Kushrenada finds he has more to worry about than surviving the wasteland that earth has become. NON YAOI. NON ROMANCE.

****************

Chapter 13

Mariemaia sat quietly in her seat, clad in the Federation's black military uniform. The boots were heavy, the clothes large and the fabric rough against her skin. The cap was tight around her head and made her hair become wild and frizzy when she took it off. She asked repeatedly if she was given the right size and was also repeatedly informed that these uniforms were made for the wearer's functionality—not for style or for comfort.

Needless to say, she hated every thread of it.

However, this abrasive uniform would probably be the only clothes she'd have while on earth. It was one of many things she would have to **learn** to like, just as she would have to **learn** to be a soldier quickly if she planned on surviving there. The crew around her, they were not only members of the rebellious cabal created and led by those shrewd scientists whose faces she never saw. They were trained and skilled soldiers—they were not only trained to protect, they were also trained to kill if necessary. There was no doubt in Mariemaia's mind that they've already killed many people in order to advance the agenda of liberating the earth. Her grandfather, elderly yet experienced, was not ashamed to spout the number of lives he claimed with his own hands or otherwise. Trowa was not only a tyrant in his own right, but he was willing to offer up his own life for the old man to be successful. Her father was a soldier: he'd ended just as many lives, if not more. Just as **she** had those who threatened to disrupt her plans were disposed of.

Mariemaia's hands were no cleaner than any of them. They were just as filthy. Justifying the bloodstains with "necessity" and "misfortune" on the part of those who died would never make them go away, let alone fade.

_Seems the price of progress comes in the form of blood. Does it always have to be this way?_

"Hey. Are you alright?"

She raised her head enough to acknowledge the dark-haired teen that stood in front of her. While the authority figures knew who she was and why she was here, Mariemaia hardly expected the rest of the crew to know. It was a choice between her and these senior officers, who assured her that she was in good hands along with her identity.

"I'm fine. Just a little overwhelmed."

"Is this your first deployment?"

"Yes. Yes it is." She nodded slightly. It was best to play the charade until it was safe enough to end it. "This is my first time away from the colonies."

"We can stick together if you want. This is my first deployment too." The teen sat next to her; she was older, but not by much. "I've been around the colonies, but never to earth. I guess there's really no need to go when it's been simulated to perfection, then again, I wish I went before all this. From what I saw in school, it used to be nice."

To this, Mariemaia nodded in agreement. Seems they had something in common already. "Unfortunately, we'll have to see it in shambles. It's sad, really. I was hoping to see a **real** sky for once. …I'm forgetting my manners. My name is—Leia."

"I'm Hilde." The girls shook hands briefly. "So Leia, what are you going to be doing once we land?"

"When we land??" She needed a cover story fast and created one just as quickly. "Oh, I—I'm supposed to report to the infantry right away. I was told they needed people who could do maintenance the new AK-108 Beta. I might see action as well."

"Let me guess: you were volunteered." Hilde shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Even if you didn't have anything to do, General Marx would have **something** lined up. At least, that's what I heard."

_Marx? Where have I heard that name before?_ "What are you going to be doing, Hilde?"

"Supply: it won't be as lazy and glamorous as it is in the colonies, but at least I'll be busy." She looked at her watch and frowned heavily. "Damn, I've got to go. I have to do another inspection on the cargo. It was nice meeting you Leia. Maybe we'll get to talk more on earth."

"Hilde, just one more thing." Mariemaia called after her. "Just, who is this General Marx? Do you know if she can be trusted?"

Hilde shrugged lightly. "I heard she was some kind of big shot officer before the colonies fell. And I **guess** we can trust her if she's as in on "this" as anyone else here. We'll just have to see in a couple of hours!"

Alone with herself and her thoughts again, Mariemaia heaved a deep sigh and left her seat. _Sorry Hilde, but I'm not a fan of surprises._ It was painful to have to lie to Hilde. She seemed rather pleasant, as most of the soldiers here did. It was genuine and not forced as it was back in the colonies. But, she decided to reveal herself on earth. As hospitable as these soldiers and members of the rebellion were, her trust for them was still minimal. For the moment, she was more concerned about the identity of this Marx woman. The name was annoyingly familiar; she might have heard her grandfather grumble it on occasion. Perhaps the senior officers aboard this shuttle would know.

"Excuse me, Miss." As if the fates were toying with her, one of those officers appeared. But she hardly had the opportunity to ask them anything, since they were all but shoving her back to her seat. "You really ought to sit down. We're about to enter earth's orbit and start the entry process immediately afterward."

"You can't be serious!" she snapped as she was led by the hand back through the corridor. "We just left the moon hours ago!"

"And we're two hours away from landing on an orbiting hell hole." They—rather, **she**-- planted her in the seat and started to strap her in at the waist. "Sit here, don't get up, and we'll be on earth before you know it."

"What do you know about General Marx?"

"I know a lot about General Kayline Marx. Depends on what you plan on asking." The woman offered a thin smile. "But you know what? I'll answer your questions, since Dr. J was a little too stingy with you about the details. First off, this shuttle **does not** belong to the Federation—it's actually a Sweepers cargo shuttle in Federation clothing. Secondly, we are **all** Sweepers in Federation clothing. And before you interrupt and ask whose side we're on, we're on Marx's side. And last but not least, General Marx is the best fucking female soldier the earth has at her disposal right now. If you've got other questions, ask them now. I have a shuttle to pilot."

_The Sweepers. Of course those old fools would use the Sweepers. No one would suspect junk merchants of anything. They're only using whatever resources were available, even if it meant __**pretending**__ to cow-tow to the colonies. And if they're in cahoots with the old men, then there's no doubt they have some sort of cover in place to hide the true nature of their activities on the earth. They're also closer to this Marx person. _Mariemaia nodded slightly. _Dr. J said she's close to my father. It's a better place to start than none at all._

"Just who or what are you to General Marx? I've never heard of her before."

The woman lifted the bill of her cap and watched Mariemaia briefly with a pair of eyes that were the same almond-brown as her skin. Loose yet neat curls fell past her shoulders with the occasional bronze stripe. She looked young, hardly out of her teens but something in her eyes said she was much older. She offered a wide smile and shook her head gently.

"Who me? I'm no one important, just a relative of hers. I don't think she knows I'm alive though. And in case you're wondering, General Marx is alive and so is your father."

"How did you know—"

"Do you really need me to answer that? After all, you helped plan this _coup de etat_ based on Old Man Barton's reports. But, you've got more to worry about than **that**." She gave the seatbelt a sharp tug that made Mariemaia yelp in pain before patting her on the head roughly and stalking off. "Now you stay here young lady, and no talking. You bite your tongue off during re-entry, and I'll make you use it to clean my shuttle."

"Wait! What's your name! I have more questions!!" She was already gone, humming as she went. Not only did Dr. J withhold the details of the entire agenda from her, he also went on to keep the identities of those involved from her as well. And it apparently didn't stop with General Marx, if this woman truly was a relative of hers—who made a point to be just as vague. But just how much **did** the old man hide, and for what reason? There was always method to his madness; was there method to denying Mariemaia the information she needed? Was there a purpose behind **everyone** keeping her out of the loop she all but arranged herself?

_Whatever their reasons are, I'll have to wait until I reach earth to find out what it is._ _Bloodied hands, not a damned clue to go on, and having to place my life in the hands of people I've never heard of. _She shook her head slowly in disappointment. _This is __**not**__ what I had in mind._

_*******************_

*Moon Base*

Dekim Barton was glaring at the soldiers in front of him, his gloved hands folded tightly to prevent wrapping them around their necks.

"You let her escape?"

"The cargo bay was sealed from the inside, Sir! We couldn't get the override codes for the doors in time!"

"Why didn't you halt the departure?"

"Sir, we couldn't; the shuttle was well into its launch! Aborting would have--"

"Enough!!" He put a hand over his mouth and breathed deeply. He needed to calm himself, to view the newfound situation from every angle. Try as he might, all he **could** see was Mariemaia outwitting not only his soldiers, but **him** most of all. His plans for her were laid out in detail the moment she was conceived, and were carried out as such until now. She had to have been affiliated with the so-called rebels for some time to escape him so easily. But her involvement with this collective had to have been reasonably long, if not for months, then for **years**. "How long has it been since the shuttle launched?"

"Roughly four hours, Sir. They we can pursue them if you give the order…?"

Dekim tilted his head slightly, weighing the question for all of a moment before shaking his head.

"No."

"No, Sir?"

"No." He repeated. "Have word sent down to earth: Mariemaia Barton, an earth sympathizer and agent for OZ, has infiltrated the Federation, stolen vital information and is returning to earth at this very moment. When spotted, she is to be arrested. Use force if necessary."

The pair of soldiers fell silent, both of them looking at each other with obvious disbelief before turning back to him.

"No insubordination intended, Sir." One of them said cautiously. "But she's just a child! We couldn't—"

"That's no "child". She is a criminal: guilty of treason to the Federation and she **will** be charged as such upon her return." He narrowed his eyes in warning. "And any individual who assists her will be charged just the same. Understood?"

The duo glanced at each other again, gave a hesitating nod of acknowledgement and departed. They didn't understand her.

They didn't _know_ her.

Mariemaia was young, but what she lacked in age she made up for in sheer intelligence. Her getting involved with these rebels—whom he had **yet** to find—was by no means arbitrary. It was all planned to the finest detail. She knew full and well what she was getting herself into, and what it would mean if she was discovered. Her resolve was obviously strong enough to entangle herself so deeply, that she interfered with Trowa's scheduled launch. In fact, all five were delayed by at least ten hours due to her intervention.

Which explained her boarding a shuttle bound for the earth: to avoid repercussions for stalling him and thus, the entire operation.

But trying to learn how she managed to evade him **and** several thousand soldiers and civilian staff was pointless. Dekim was more interested in what she had to **gain** from her actions. Surely she knew the disenfranchised militaries of earth that did not submit to his propaganda machine, would want nothing to do with her. Not even if she offered them vital information on his activities. There was also the chance her own father would turn her away, in addition to the siege on Luxembourg. If Mariemaia planned to go **there**, she would be apprehended as ordered.

If she went **anywhere** within Federation jurisdiction, she would be apprehended as ordered.

Still, just what was she trying to achieve?

_If she plans on liberating the earth, that would be an exercise in futility. Too strong is the Federation's hold on the planet for it to be broken so easily. Yet, whatever she is planning, it is clearly moving at full speed. She's also savvy enough to avoid detection by me and the rest of the staff here for as long as she has, and will continue to do so despite the earth's conditions. This includes winning the assistance of the rebel party, and the likelihood of earning the trust of the earth military. Something no other person in my auspices would have been able to accomplish. …I've truly underestimated her._

Dekim leaned back into his seat. To deny defeat at her hands would be foolish. However, there was nothing she could do to slow down his totalitarian advance. Be it with assistance or on her own, Mariemaia was still powerless. She was a powerless, useless doll that would be thrown away upon return to its owner. He shook his head slightly in dismissal and moved towards his consul to order a new bottle of wine.

_This battle goes to her. But the war has just begun. Her father will be dead by sunrise…and so will __**she**__ if she chooses to shield him._

_******************_

Thanks for reading everyone! If you haven't already, please leave a review. Thanks again!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Summary: In a world where Operation Meteor is a success, Treize Kushrenada finds he has more to worry about than surviving the wasteland that earth has become. NON YAOI. NON ROMANCE.

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Chapter 14

*Federation Supply Facility; Countryside*

"About fucking time we got here."

Marx moaned as she stretched her long arms. An hour after being halted on the freeway by the small group civilians, they arrived at the base with no incident whatsoever. It was a perfect opportunity to confront her about the true nature of her ties to the Sweepers, and to what degrees they had infiltrated the Federation on her behalf. He decided against it at the time, instead choosing to wait until he could get her truly by herself. Considering what happened with Chandler, interrogating Marx in a semi-crowded mess hall was a risk he did not want to take. But if something happened—and he had a sinking feeling it would, they would be sought out immediately. Their position in a fairly distant corner of the room would have to do for now.

"You alright, Merquise?"

"What?"

"I said, "Are you alright"?" She raised an eyebrow. "You've been a little spacey since we sat down."

"Lost in thought, is all."

"Where's Otto?"

"He took it upon himself to see to it our group settles in for however long it takes to prepare for the trip to Headquarters. He's also looking in on the injured members we sent here." He frowned lightly and lowered his tones. "Marx, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"What is it?"

"About your ties to the Sweepers--"

"I figured you were going to ask about that." She said rather plainly as a soldier appeared at the table to place two plates of food between them. "I have no problems telling you just how deep my associations with the Sweepers are. I was hoping for a little more isolation, but seeing how we're going to embark on a three day expedition that's just not possible right now. But we might be able to afford some privacy once we're done eating. I'm usually left alone after that. I know you feel as though I've been holding out on you. It's not spiteful, especially after what happened with that wretch Chandler."

"I can forgive you that." Miliardo was not feeling particularly hungry; Marx however, was ravenous. She was already done by the time he decided he'd had enough halfway through his own meal. "I have yet to thank you for what you've done thus far."

"Don't. Thank the Sweepers. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't have been able to find you at all."

"It wasn't the Sweepers who brought me here, so I'm thanking **you**."

"It feels good to be appreciated." she said with a genuine smile that was almost as jarring as it was attractive. "You and I already have a thankless job so any amount of gratitude is practically a blessing, especially these days. But if you're done with that food, I should get us out of here--oh good **Christ**." she drawled at the sight of a pair of soldiers strode towards the table. "This had **better** be important--we're having a meeting!"

"Ma'am, a shuttle landed while you were away."

"When the fuck was I going to be told about that?"

"We couldn't reach you while you were en route; too much interference from an approaching storm due east of here." One of them paused briefly, frowning as they continued. "The pilot **insisted** that they speak with you and you alone. They claim they have pertinent information regarding the Federation's activities. They also claim to know you extremely well."

"I'll be the judge of that." Marx rolled her eyes and waved them off. "Send the pilot to my office. Anything else you can blame the storm for holding out on me?"

"Siberia has almost completed mass production of the prototypes you requested. When they're done, you'll be notified immediately and asked where you want them to be shipped."

"Good news for once. Keep me updated and find out what's going on at Luxembourg. Spare no details."

Miliardo frowned slightly. "What prototypes are they talking about?"

"Something to counter whatever the Federation has in store. Right now, the only combat-grade mobile suits they have on earth are your standard Leo models." A fresh cigarette was brought to life and Marx leaned back into her seat. "The combat units in the colonies are far more advanced of course, expecting to support the five Gundanium units he's sending down here. I was able to get the schematics of both the five specialized units and the supporting units, and designed models to match them. I asked Siberia to run simulators on them and work out any flaws while I was gone."

"I suppose these prototypes will be delivered here or to Luxembourg when they're finally completed. That only confirms my suspicion that you have more ties to the Sweepers than what you've told me." He shook his head slightly. "This is not to say that I don't trust you; I do, wholeheartedly. However, it seems far too convenient that you're capable of all this with little to nothing at your disposal."

"Let's get going before you get anymore agitated."

"Surely you understand--"

"Believe me, I do. We've both been there once upon a time, when Treize had his share of secrets and denied everyone what he knew. But we can't afford another "Chandler Incident", and I refuse to start plugging our own soldiers unless it's absolutely necessary." She said strongly as she led him out of the mess hall and into the cold air to a building several hundred meters across. She nodded at the soldiers gathered at the building's entrance. "Split up and surround the building. See to it that **no one** enters until I and the Lieutenant leaves. If you see anything suspicious, call for back up—**do not leave your positions around this building**. Is that clear?"

"Yes Ma'am!"

Once through the doors that shut and were locked behind them, they made their way to the office on the far end of the hall. The door was already ajar, and voices could be heard within. "Is this pilot a member of the Sweepers?"

"Only the Sweepers know I'm here, so it's safe to assume so."

"Can this pilot be trusted?"

"We're about to find out." Marx shrugged lightly. "Watch my back, I'll watch yours. Be damned if we get played for asses again; I'm not having it."

"Neither am I."

"Let's get this over with."

The door was pushed open, and Marx stopped dead in her tracks.

In front of the desk stood a woman that resembled Marx exactly; the same height, prideful posture and almond-perfect complexion. But that was where the similarities ended. This clone was cleaner, shapelier despite her coveralls and appeared to be younger. Marx was thinner, rugged and worn from decades of military training and warfare. She frowned heavily across the room, taking a short and hesitant step forward.

"Giselle?"

"Kayline?"

Their voices were almost equal in tone. Marx blinked repeatedly and shook her head in disbelief. "Father told me you were killed in action."

"Father's a liar, I never died in action. I went underground with the Sweepers in Brazil the moment the colonies fell."

"Giselle...so that's your name?" The girl at her side snapped lightly. "You should have told me that--"

"Quiet! I'll get to **you** in a minute." Marx hissed at the girl and turned to Miliardo, still dubious and in shock. She heaved a deep sigh and gestured across the room. "Merquise, meet my sister Giselle Mayorga...Sweeper, pilot of the shuttle that landed here, former Major of the Alliance."

"Giselle" nodded and smiled widely at him. "Pleasure's mine. You'll have to excuse Kayline's behavior. We haven't seen each other in a few years."

"I see." He muttered as he watched Marx continue to stare at her sibling with continued disbelief combined with rising suspicion. The timing of this woman's arrival was as "convenient" as Marx's ability to seize this base. Miliardo was growing just as wary when he pondered the likelihood of her knowing that Marx was here to begin with. If she did know, how long and why appear now? If she was so insistent on finding her sibling, she would have shown face already. And who was this child with her? Something was disturbing about this Giselle's presence, and both officers did their best to keep it from showing. Just when Chandler's exposure was felt to be enough, it seemed their troubles were only beginning. "Well, shall we begin?"

"**Yes**." Marx slammed the door behind her with enough force to rattle the entire room. "Let's begin."

* * *

*Luxembourg; Outskirts*

The ground trembled beneath Sally's feet and sent her staggering on to the pavement of the road. She looked up beyond the branches to see large plumes of smoke limber skyward.

_Am I being followed?_

Considering that her own group had turned against her and most likely left with the Leos they'd stolen, being pursued was a possibility. There was also the fact that her former crew was armed to the teeth with the Federation's weapons. Flushing her out for an expedited turnover to the Federation may be on their agenda. They might as well crush her while moving the Leos about the area. She'd traveled several hours **away** from Treize's headquarters, and would be at her heels soon enough. However, if they were truly searching for her, they would have found her by now and there were no signs of the mobile suits at all.

_I have to keep moving._

Gather herself quickly, Sally moved at a brisk pace only to stumble again with a new explosion. There was no return fire she could identify, no shouting. It was an ambush by the sound of it, catching whoever the unfortunate party was completely off guard. If it was Treize, he could fend for himself--he made that abundantly clear. But after a third attempt to put distance between her and the noise of an assault going on behind her, Sally stopped dead in her tracks and turned in the direction she came from.

It would hardly be surprising if Barton decided to accelerate his advance on the earth. He was hasty in ordering Operation Meteor a year early; launching a surprise attack right on Treize's doorstep was practically expected of him. But if that were true then why was there a lack of return fire? Naturally the distance between herself and the actual complex prevented her from hearing any altercations. Yet it was still too silent, as if everyone there had been murdered or arrested and even **that** would have garnered some sort of retaliation.

'Something's wrong.' The rumbling of vehicles sent Sally into hiding, with barely enough leeway to watch three of them thunder past and away from her. They were heading east. 'Where are they going?'

"You."

_SHIT_. Sally turned around and met with the giving end of an assault rifle that nodded skyward.

"Hands above your head."

"Who are you?"

"You're not from OZ, are you?"

"No, I'm not. But I'm not from the Federation." Sally narrowed her eyes. "And neither are **you** for that matter. You're from OZ, right? Then you know I was just AT your Headquarters, telling you that I mean no harm to you. Now put that goddamn rifle down, Ensign. You're no soldier of mine, but as a senior officer that's still an **order**."

"Forgive me, Major. I had no intention of firing on you." The rifle lowered. "I hope you understand why I did this--"

"Of course I do. And excuse my being harsh. Shoving a rifle in my face isn't exactly a gesture of good intent, and I've had my fill of hostility for today. Mind telling me what's going on?"

They looked to the ground briefly before shaking their head. "The Federation has ambushed us, taken the entire complex hostage in exchange for His Excellency. You were the last person to see him--"

"I wasn't the last person to see him **alive**, if that's what you're implying. That is, **if** he was even killed at all when this happened."

"Regardless, there's about eight of us who were trying to find him. We believe he's still out in the woods with Ensign Noin; they were searching for Colonel Une right before the ambush started."

Sally waved him onward as she stalked off. She was wasting time, and was not going to find Merquise by pointlessly debating with them. After the way she was treated, Treize could fend for himself. "Then the best of luck with your search. Give him my regards."

"We haven't found him for the last five hours!" they called after her and the frown deepened. "We're cut off from headquarters and can't return. We'll be murdered if we do."

"Then lay low until things settle down."

"The Federation is sealing off the area. The trucks that rumbled on a head are setting up a roadblock. If we stay here much longer, we'll be caught."

With a frustrated sigh she came to a stop and turned around to see the rest of their group materialize behind them. They all looked weary, smeared and covered with soil as if they took the brunt of the explosions earlier. Sally rolled her eyes and conceded to their silent plea to hear them out.

"So you're not going to continue searching for Treize? He'll be captured as well."

"We would, but he already ordered us **not** to and it's already been several hours. We were hoping you'd have seen him while out here, and it's clear that you haven't." They nodded at her. "However, before we were separated we had orders to help you find Lieutenant Merquise. I wasn't even expecting to run into you this close to headquarters. We thought you were already out of the general region."

"So some of you were part of that group? What happened to Une?"

"She was picked up by Ensign Noin, but we were scattered at the start of the assault. We already decided that if those two were with His Excellency, then he'd be fine. They all know this area extremely well and can manage without us."

"And no one knows if he's dead or alive by now?"

"It's more likely he's alive than dead. We **found** him out here, Major. He's not likely to drop dead so soon."

The pieces fell into place now. She had kept Une longer than intended, prompting Treize to leave Headquarters to look for her. In the midst of his absence, the base was seized and the ambush was meant to isolate rather than kill him. The soldiers standing in front of her were the remnants of two groups: Une's search party and the party assigned to Sally. More haunting was the fact that Treize actually **left** the base at all. Barton had his eyes and ears where ever he could place them; if the old man used his departure against him, it would explain how easily the place had been taken. Had Treize been there, it would've been an all out war. It would have been a futile one, but futility was a minimal concern compared to making a stand at all.

But that was not an issue.

"You said the Federation was closing the area off?"

"Yes, at a five mile radius. We're at the halfway point, but if we hurry we can make it out of here before they finally impose martial law."

"Then we'll leave **now**. And obtain transportation at the Federation's expense." Sally pointed behind her. "That roadblock--are there any snipers in the group?"

There were five nods.

"Split up. The five of you will get on either side; maintain your distance, take out as many as you can. The rest of you will come with me and finish off any that's left." Sally said strongly. "The goal is to take them by surprise and seize one of the trucks along with any supplies they have. Leave **no** survivors, not even for interrogation. I'll explain the rest once we're mobile."

"No need to explain anything; just tell us what to do and we'll handle it from now on."

As she watched them separate and move in to position, Sally groaned inwardly in combined annoyance and disappointment. She could hear the muffled "crack" of each round being fired and the shouting of each unfortunate target as they were slain.

_How could he be so damned careless? Does he even know what happened? Surely he had to have seen this coming, unless Barton is more established on earth than I thought._ A mild scowl appeared. _He would have to be to launch an ambush of that scale. But if that's the case, how long has it been since that point? And how did he pull it off without anyone on earth knowing?_'

"Ma'am, we're all clear. No survivors."

_The plot thickens, but there's no time to wade through it. Not yet._

Sally shouldered her rifle and waved for the rest of the group to follow.

"Let's move out!"

* * *

Thank you for reading! Please, if you haven't left a review yet please do so. Enjoy your day today everyone, and thanks again!


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Summary: In a world where Operation Meteor is a success, Treize Kushrenada finds he has more to worry about than surviving the wasteland that earth has become. NON YAOI. NON ROMANCE.

***************

Chapter 15

*Federation Supply Facility; Countryside*

"YES. Let's begin."

"There's no need to be hostile, Kayline. We haven't seen each other in twenty three years, and I only take my orders from Howard! I'm not a Federation rat!"

"I'm not hostile because of THAT, Giselle. I'm hostile because I wasn't INFORMED that YOU let alone that shuttle would be coming here." Marx scowled angrily. "Not even so much as an advance warning that you were landing at all! How the hell was I supposed to know it was YOU? What if you were some Federation drone come to slay us all? I have FOUR HUNDRED AND SEVENTY EIGHT LIVES in my hands: this kind of sudden bullshit can't be allowed, I don't care if Jesus H. Christ sent you!"

Mariemaia frowned slightly at the opposite end of the room, at the woman dressed in a beaten combat uniform with the sleeves of the battle shirt rolled up and the tank top taut over her chest. Long curls fell past her waist and over her shoulders, just as the pilot next to her. However, this woman's posture was full of pride and authority just the same. On one lapel of her collar was a rank insignia for "general"; on the other was a pin for OZ.

_THIS is General Kayline Marx??_

But with all her pride, just her presence alone was as commanding and imposing as she was angry. It was equal to the turbulence she experienced while entering the earth's atmosphere. If not equal, it was volumes more violent. Mariemaia felt herself shrink under the weight of the tension in the room. Were all the soldiers of OZ like this? Was her father going to be like this? Dare she even ASK, and be barked back into silence?

"Kayline, you were still EN ROUTE to this base when I landed. And last I was told is that some storm not far from here was causing too much interference for you to BE informed. OF COURSE you wouldn't know!" Giselle shook her head at Marx. "Look, you and I can fight to the death about this LATER. Right now, I have information for you and a favor on the behalf of Barton's developers."

Marx watched her sister momentarily, looked to her partner and they traded words that were muttered too lowly for Mariemaia to hear. Her almond eyes shifted to Mariemaia, lingering for several moments before turning back to Giselle. "Agreed; it's Howard I should be bitching at, not you. Last thing we need is be at each other's throats anyway. What do you have for us?"

_Wait, what did they say? Did they recognize me?_

"Howard and Barton's developers sent some equipment for you." She shook her head. "Don't ask me what it is, he wouldn't tell me. He only said that you'd know what to do with it on sight."

"Merquise, Howard is another member of the Sweepers and a family friend."

"He's a friend of mine and Kayline anyway." Giselle added. Her lips thinned into a line of disdain. "Our father sided with the Federation, but that's an issue we can discuss another time. As for activities within the Feds, the deployment has been stalled by at least ten hours."

"Merquise": tall, blonde, and as rugged and stern as Marx raised an eyebrow. "What's happened to cause such a delay? I was under the impression that he was anxious to tighten his hold on us."

"He is. But thanks to internal," Giselle cut a brief eye to Mariemaia, who looked down immediately. "Upheavals, all five pilots are under investigation. They're expected to be released in about a day."

_So Trowa has been replaced after all._ Marx gave a slight, approving nod in her stead. _But will he even live after grandfather is done with him? Just what's going on up there?_

"We COULD play that to our advantage, but I'm not sure how. We can think on it later. Anything else we should know?"

Giselle paused, and leaned back onto the desk behind her.

"Luxembourg is under siege."

"Say that again?" Merquise snapped. "I didn't hear you clearly."

"You heard what I said. Luxembourg has been under siege for the last three and a half hours--"

"Let me guess." He frowned. "A storm somewhere nearby interrupted communications and kept us from being informed."

_They have a complete lack of satellite capability, even with stealing the Federation's equipment and the Sweepers' assistance? Things are more difficult here than I initially though._

"That's the gist of every reason why we're out of the loop." Marx grumbled and folded her arms. "You already know what we're going to ask, so let's hear it Giselle."

_Things could be worse, but this Marx woman leaves much to be desired. _Mariemaia heaved a quiet sigh. _Who knows what she will be like when I'm left with her. She seems so boorish._

"Casualties are at a surprising minimum. He's most likely holding everyone there hostage in exchange for a full surrender from OZ. Which we know isn't going to happen. Whether or not that works in your favor is up to you." Giselle made an offertory gesture. "However, just before we lost satellite capability to the weather, we did confirm that Treize and a handful of others survived the initial onslaught. He's in the general vicinity."

Merquise shook his head. "Not for much longer, especially if he knows Barton is at the helm of this ambush."

"Well, there isn't shit we can do to help him for another three days." Marx sounded uninterested. "Stalled deployment or not, he's on his own for now and he can manage until we get there."

"Actually, Howard's taken care of that as well." Giselle raised a hand to cut off Marx. "Just LISTEN first, Kayline. Howard already asked me to apologize FOR him, because he's had to go into HIDING since Barton is damn near close to finding out about you and this base. Cut him some slack. As for your field trip to Luxembourg, cancel it. The entire place is surrounded for at least two and a half miles around. You'll be shot dead before you can even advance on the base at all. We've embedded some of our people into the ambush to find Treize and bring him HERE instead."

_That's perfect!_ Mariemaia smiled. _At least if he's alive, grandfather can't act as hastily as he did with the ambush. They have TIME to devise a counter offensive! This will certainly work in their favor, if I can figure out how for them._

"That's a considerable weight he's trying to lift from us, Giselle." Merquise raised an eyebrow. "But it needs to be said that he WILL NOT go quietly with just anyone. I'm curious as to whom you sent, and if he knows I and Marx are here at all?"

"He knows you're here. He WILL, at any rate. Once he hears that, he'll definitely come looking for both of you. As far as WHO was sent? Well, we were more than lucky with that." Giselle's shoulders fell slightly. "He's lucky to have a single relative alive PERIOD, and they volunteered to go after him."

Marx leered at her. "Spare us the suspense! Who the hell did you send??"

_Why is it an issue? They should be glad he's on his way here! Does it even matter who brings him?_

"We sent Dorothy Catalonia."

The name flew completely over Mariemaia's head, yet it was clear that Marx and Merquise knew this person well. Perhaps, undesirably well as both looked at each other and back at Giselle with faces that were genuinely mortified.

"YOU DID WHAT!?"

* * *

*Luxembourg; Outskirts*

Dorothy and Treize were staring eye to eye. But where Dorothy was short of being blatantly smug Treize, Une and Noin were in utter disbelief. He shook his head and frowned heavily as the rifle lowered.

"So what you're saying is that the Sweepers sent YOU to retrieve ME, and take me to some Federation base not far from here where Marx is being held?"

"Correction: a Federation base that Marx SEIZED."

"It doesn't matter! And you're taking us to this place, in exchange for protection from JUNK MERCHANTS??" Treize snorted flatly. "You can't expect me to BUY this as truth!"

"That's a shame, because I'm not SELLING it." She narrowed her eyes. "It's a FACT. Yours isn't the only family Barton made a point to exterminate. I was fleeing for my life at one point, until I was picked up by the Sweepers in New Port City. Or what's LEFT of it. Regardless, when news of this place being ambushed broke I decided to come out here personally to find you."

"Why?" Noin asked flatly. "After all the trouble you've caused in the past, why would you even bother to come here?"

"Treize won't trust anyone beyond his immediate circle. But he'll trust someone he KNOWS rather than someone he DOESN'T. Any other member of the Sweepers would have been turned away immediately."

She tilted her head slightly. "Am I right?"

"You are. However, I am still under NO obligation to believe a single word of what you've said. You're clearly acting out of your own benefit, as usual." He snarled. "You're going to have to do better than this if you expect me to go along with you, Dorothy."

"I honestly didn't expect you to be this hostile; at least SOMETHING hasn't changed." Dorothy shook her head and sighed heavily as she reached into her jacket. She thrust a crisp, painfully white envelope in their direction. "But since I knew this would happen regardless, I had a letter of introduction written on my behalf. Maybe THAT will convince you."

The envelope was snatched from her hand, opened, and the enclosed slip unfolded. Noin and Une materialized on either side of the letter as Treize read it aloud.

_General Kushrenada._

_If you're reading this, then congratulations: you've escaped death yet again. Unfortunately, your personnel are currently being held hostage by the Colonial Federation in exchange for your total surrender. For that, you have my utmost sympathy. But sympathy won't do a thing for you right now._

_As it stands, Barton has agreed--to the public--that your staff won't be harmed until you reach a decision. However, the ambush you survived was meant to kill you. He plans on falsifying your surrender the moment your death is confirmed. But, since you AND your staff are still alive, we can play this to your advantage._

_Miss Catalonia chose of her own free will to look for you. She will take you to a Federation supply facility that was seized by General Marx--who you know QUITE well. Also with her is your Lieutenant Merquise, whom she picked up several hours ago. They had plans to travel to your current position, but have been told to cancel those plans and to wait for your arrival. This facility is a week's travel from where you are now. Driving at top speed can lower that to three days._

_If you want to keep your personnel alive and reclaim your base of operations, it would behoove you to stow your grudge and to go with Dorothy. You have more important issues to fume over than whether or not she'll turn on you._

_You owe Kayline an apology, by the way._

_Godspeed,_

_Howard_

_So Miliardo is alive after all, and he was actually on his way here. And Kayline found him? How did--foolish question_. He shook his head briefly._ Naturally she would use her ties to the Sweepers to her advantage now, which explains how she raided the base to begin with. She's just that resourceful. But what are her motives for finding Miliardo?_

Treize knew Marx well enough that she would NOT turn her back on OZ or its members, and most likely sought out Miliardo strictly for that reason. If her demeanor had changed at all since the colonies fell, it would to be seen when he crossed her path again. It was the last thing he wanted to do in THIS death-addled age. Any potential apologies he had for her stood the chance of falling on deaf ears. Or, having him called every possible curse word in existence and in seven languages.

"Just who IS this Howard?" Une asked dubiously. "How does he KNOW all this?"

"The Sweepers would be the only other collective outside the Federation with satellite capability." Noin muttered. "It makes sense that they would know what went on here, in addition to Marx's activities."

"Marx has had lifelong ties with the Sweepers; her family invested in them frequently. Her ability to raid ANY Federation facility is due to those ties. They helped her somehow, and still ARE helping her. Otherwise, she never would have attempted it." Treize returned the letter to Dorothy. "The fact that this Howard mentioned both Marx and Miliardo in the same paragraph gives me cause to believe him."

"We can't trust this person right away." Noin narrowed her eyes at Dorothy. "We can hardly trust HER as it is. What if it's a trap to turn us over?"

"It isn't."

"How do you know??"

"I've known Marx a long time, Lu; she's extremely loyal to OZ. She'd sooner take her own life than take any of OURS, or allow our lives to be TAKEN. She'll use the Sweepers beyond the point of abuse if necessary to prevent that. Miliardo is in good hands." He waved Une's protest into silence. "So are WE for that matter. Dorothy has no reason to lie, and WE have nothing to gain by refusing her. We're going with her to this facility."

"So that's it??" Noin scowled heavily and shook her head. "We're leaving Headquarters and everyone behind? Just like that?"

"We're in no condition to return to Headquarters. We'll be killed outright."

"We were almost killed out HERE because of YOU!" She jabbed a finger at him. "Had you stayed at Headquarters this never would have happened--"

"It wouldn't have made a damned difference if I stayed: we're outnumbered, and out-powered. Barton would have won anyway and everyone would have been slaughtered including us." He swatted her hand aside. "Furthermore, had it been YOU out in the woods I would have gone after you just the same!"

"In exchange for everyone else? You can't be serious--"

"Spare me, Lucrezia. I know what I did and I also know how to berate myself for it. I don't need to hear you or anyone else reminding me of what happened. But if I EVER have the need to be chastised, I'll be sure to let you know!" He vaguely heard shuffling behind him--Une restraining Noin as he turned to Dorothy. "How will we get to this base?"

"There's a roadblock ahead. We'll take one of the vehicles and go east. It's a straight path from here." Dorothy's escorts emerged from the trees, carrying additional gear and looking anxious. "Has something happened?"

"The Federation knows he's out here; they're going to search the area. We can stay ahead of them if we leave now and try to put a few hours between us."

"Then it's settled. Dorothy, lead the way."

"Your girl is furious with you."

"She's lost the entire Lake Victoria training facility and everyone ON it, Dorothy. Of course she's livid about leaving Headquarters behind." They spoke in low tones as they walked on ahead, with Noin and Une at their heels. "However, she will have to choose another time to be angry with me. They'll manage without us; they have their orders. They know what to do."

"I knew you would prepare for something of this scale."

"I'm LOGICAL, Dorothy. Nothing at all would have prepared me for this ambush, and running a gamut will only get us killed. It's in everyone's best interest that we fall back for now and pool what resources are available to us." Treize shook his head. "If it means having to deal with HER again, then so be it."

"You mean Kayline."

"She may be loyal, but forgiveness is not a strong point of hers."

"Things have changed. Perhaps SHE has changed as well."

"Her demeanor may have changed. However, forgiving me for not only breaking up with her without warning, but for disrupting her own plans to wrestle power from her father, and stripping her of influence by sending her to the depths of Siberian Russia?" Treize snorted lowly. "Not going to happen."

*******************

* * *

*Federation Supply Facility; Countryside*

"I highly doubt a simple letter is going to stop Treize from tearing her head off, Giselle." Marx said flatly. "It'll be a miracle if he's not overtly hostile at a MINIMUM!"

"There really is nothing to gain from ANY hostility towards her at this point." Miliardo said. "He'll most likely use her as a means to get here, and then wash his hands of her once he arrives."

"Same thing Howard said." Giselle shrugged as she seated herself on the desk. "Dorothy has minimal interest in Treize's plans--whatever THOSE are. She offered to find him as a favor to the Sweepers for finding HER. That's a fair exchange, I think."

"Doesn't matter what you think." Marx groaned in defeat. "It was already going to take at least five hours to get ready to go out there. It's going to take just as long to inspect the cargo, maybe longer depending on what the hell it is."

"In addition to putting it to use somehow and trying to make contact with Siberia about your prototypes, weather permitting." Miliardo shook his head. "Depending on the severity of the approaching storm, we'll be extending our stay regardless. Howard planned this well in advance; we have no choice but to remain here for now."

Giselle hummed in agreement. "Glad to see the two of you haven't lost your ability to be logical. Now, since we'll be enjoying each other's company for a while longer, is there anything else you want to ask me? We have all the time in the world."

He planted a hand on Marx's shoulder when she took a predatory step towards her sister. She cut him a wary gaze at first then gave a slight nod--she remembered what he said moments ago.

_The girl; she looks like Treize. The resemblance to him is far too strong for a mere coincidence. We should find out who she is._

"What's with the little girl?"

"Who HER? This is Dekim Barton's granddaughter." She shoved the girl forward, who staggered several steps before falling to her knees. Her lengthy red hair covered her face. "You'll have to excuse her--it's her first time experiencing REAL gravity. She's actually a member of our little cabal--been helping the Sweepers and Barton's developers for a while now."

"What, a few days?"

"A few YEARS, to be exact. She's twelve; young, but sharp."

"She hardly looks a day beyond ten, though that age stopped being a factor long ago." Miliardo muttered. "WE were younger than her when we joined OZ, and younger still during our initial exposure to politics. The same case applies here."

"Maybe so. But why would a relative of Barton's even CONSIDER defying him?" Marx narrowed her eyes. "He HAS killed his older children to keep himself in power, you know. The man's more cut throat than Romefeller."

"I suppose the real question is what does she have to GAIN from her involvement with us?" He tilted his head when she moved her hair from her face, but kept her head low. "Surely there's a reason other than to escape her grandfather's wrath--and potentially draw that wrath onto US?"

"That's not my intention." Her voice was slightly nasal, but mature in tone. Her head shook slowly. "I only want to help you as best I can."

"Is that so?" He raised an eyebrow. "What's your name?"

"Mariemaia Kushrenada."

"Well, well." Marx folded her arms. "Talk about a bold statement. You know, it's not on record that Treize ever had any children. At least, not on earth prior to Operation Meteor."

"She wouldn't be registered on earth OR as a Kushrenada if Dekim Barton is involved." Miliardo said flatly. "But you and I both know that both those families had been fighting each other for at least SIX generations. It wouldn't surprise me if he tried to use this girl to his advantage somehow."

"He WAS grooming me to be a pawn so he could rule the Earth Sphere though me. It goes without saying that the grooming has come to an end now that I'm on earth, but he's still gained control over the earth and colonies." Her shoulders fell slightly. "My being here won't delay his plans by much; it's only given him reason to be harsher with his actions."

"That's a bridge we'll cross later. The current issue is that ANYONE of passing resemblance to Treize OR any relative of his can claim that name, now that he's the sole survivor on earth." He shrugged plainly, but it was a charade. She was trying to steer the conversation away from her and to the grander issue of her grandfather. It was not a bad decision; she just underestimated the people she tried to exact this decision on. "And since you have no means to prove your identity, we're hardly obligated to believe you, now are we?"

"You're implying that I'm some sort of charlatan? An imposter??" she snarled and flashed a pair of painfully familiar pale eyes at them. "I did NOT come all the way down here for you to accuse ME of LYING--"

He seized her by the chin and she immediately went stiff with fear. Surely enough, it WAS Treize's juvenile face set onto this girl. A spitting image of him, with delicate features but with long hair in a strong shade of red; a maternal feature, he was sure. Treize came from a family primarily of blondes and rarely any brunettes. If she was a member of a "branch" family, she would resemble them down to the strands on her head. Yet THEY were all earth-borne and never LEFT the earth. This child was so obviously a colonist. She wasn't related to them.

_Then who IS she?_

"That's his kid alright; she's got his temper." Marx said lowly as she casually lit a fresh cigarette. "There's that, and he HATES being accused of lying. That alone can set him off, and it takes A LOT to get him riled up. "

"The girl IS a mirror image of him, as far as physicality is concerned. But her true personality has yet to be seen, and I highly doubt they're the same temper or no." Miliardo released her, folded his arms and turned to Giselle. "She looks like him, that can't be denied. Though, I'm curious as to how she feels she'll be of any assistance? I take it she's been stripped of all levels of access and privilege since fleeing the colonies?"

Giselle nodded. "There's a global AND colonial writ out for her arrest. Anyone who helps her might as well drop dead."

"Isolating the problem and dissolving it entirely when the opportunity arises. That eliminates the need to chase her, but it doesn't explain why she's here of her own volition."

"I agree. We can also tell she's NOT so naive that she's risking her life and OURS just to tell Treize that she's his daughter." Marx shook her head warily at Mariemaia. "There's no guarantee he'll claim her as his, either. He might not even know she exists."

"I'm prepared to deal with that when the time comes. But I assure you, I have no desire to be a burden." She said strongly. "I CAN handle four different firearms and I studied weapons engineering up until recently. I can build small incendiaries, and I learned to pilot a mobile suit. I can help you predict my grandfather's next move--I know and understand how he THINKS, how he OPERATES. That would be invaluable to you in your plans, would it not?"

"So she thinks she can play soldier, huh?" Miliardo and Marx looked at each other with mildly amused expressions. "Well, at least she'll be SOMEWHAT useful as far as planning according to Barton's activities. But should she even be allowed to LOOK at a weapon let alone touch it?"

"This is your base, Marx—you decide what she's allowed to do."

Mariemaia's eyes widened hopefully. "You'll let me help you? I promise, I--"

"We said no such thing." Miliardo snapped, startling her backward several steps. "The anti-Colonist sentiment here is strong, and there ARE people who will try to cause you harm BECAUSE you're a Colonist. Keeping you in our immediate auspices will be an incentive for them NOT to make attempts on your life. They'll also be less inclined to question who you are and why you're constantly in our shadow. Furthermore, you may be competent with firearms at a minimum but you're NO soldier. You'll tell us what to expect from your grandfather, and that's it."

"Surely you can let me do more than that!"

"We CAN, but we WON'T. It's enough we have you in our custody. Letting you play pretend with the weapons we need is out of the question." Marx looked to Giselle before striding out of the office. "You and I will talk tomorrow. Get yourself comfortable; YOU won't be going anywhere for a long time, either. Merquise, I'll need your help with the cargo."

Marx hardly needed HIS assistance with the cargo; she had a legion of soldiers to do that. She wanted to talk about Mariemaia. So did he for that matter. Treize had his secrets, but even this was too grand for him to hide.

"Lieutenant...Merquise is it?" He turned around and met eye to eye with Marx's sibling. They were both stunning, but Giselle was a vision of what a younger and less aggressive Marx used to look like before the colonies fell. The suspicion he felt for her earlier dissipated entirely when she gazed at him pleadingly. She meant no harm. "I don't mean to ask favors so soon, but could you give this to Kayline for me? It's from Howard."

"Howard has been rather busy without her knowing."

"I'm not happy about him keeping information from her either." Giselle's shoulders fell slightly. "And this ISN'T the way I wanted to meet with Kayline again either."

"You said it had been twenty three years?"

"I was five when she joined OZ. We spoke rarely after that, no more than ten times since she left and it was by phone, not live satellite feed. She only let me slide because I'm in the Sweepers."

_That explains Marx's hostility from the outset. They don't know each other at all._ "I'll give this to her for you."

"Thank you."

"Mariemaia should stay with you for the time being, and should try to get some rest. It'll be busy for the next two days; we'll need all the help we can get at this point." He shifted his eyes to her, and she looked to the side. "As for YOU: behave yourself. Meddling in your grandfather's affairs may have done US a wealth of good. However, meddling in OUR affairs will only make matters difficult for you."

"You make it sound as if I'm prone to mischief."

"You ARE prone to mischief if you've disrupted a full scale political agenda from within!" He frowned. It was frightening how the she and Treize were similar; the same exact plot with decades in time being the only difference between them. "This is your first and last warning. Interfere with US, and we'll make you regret leaving the colonies in the first place."

"You have nothing to worry about, _Sir_. I'll do as I'm told." She folded her arms in a huff. "You know, you could at least WELCOME me. I'm not entirely here of my own free will, and I deserve slightly better treatment than this."

_She has his arrogance AND audacity, but not his discipline. We'll have to change that. _He took two fingers and flicked the space right between her eyes, making Giselle burst into laughter as Mariemaia squealed angrily and covered her face. "How's that for "better" treatment?"

"THAT HURT!!"

"Welcome to earth." He drawled as he walked off. "Satisfied?"

******************

Thank you everyone for reading. If you haven't already, feel free to leave a review. Thanks again!


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related entities belong to their rightful owners and creators. This is for entertainment only; no profit has been or will be made.

Summary: In a world where Operation Meteor is a success, Treize Kushrenada finds he has more to worry about than surviving the wasteland that earth has become. NON YAOI. NON ROMANCE.

* * *

Chapter 16

*Federation Supply Facility; Countryside*

_Marx was absolutely...uncouth._

Mariemaia was seated on the small bed, arms folded and back against the wall. She and Giselle were brought to this small barracks room with two beds, a bathroom and a sink. Meager quarters in comparison any military barracks in the colonies. But she had to remember: she was staying in enlisted quarters. Surely the senior ranking had better accommodations despite living in a post-apocalypse. She shifted her weary eyes to Giselle, who'd been sitting in silence at the small table in the corner since they arrived. A glass of water was held loosely, the other supporting her chin as her eyes remained shut. The water had hardly been touched.

_I was hardly expecting ANY soldier of OZ to be so hostile! Though, I can hardly blame her for being angry: someone mentioned she had a hard time in the hours just before our arrival. A shuttle she was not prepared for would certainly raise her ire, General or not. In addition to the myriad of problems that require her attention, we were yet another inconvenience added to many more. No, it's unfair to judge her so poorly. First impressions aren't always set in stone._ She frowned lightly. _That Lieutenant Merquise however... He had some NERVE! Putting his hands on other people's children; my father would be furious to know what he's done--_

Her shoulders fell considerably as she shook her head. _He doesn't even know I exist in the first place to BE furious. I wasn't exactly in my best form towards the end of that "meeting", either. Whether they believe me or not, I'm as much a hostage as they are fugitives here. I'm at their mercy. Anything I've done in the colonies, does not apply here. The rules have changed--I'm expendable now, to both sides. Marx and her colleague have nothing to lose by killing me or returning me to the colonies. And grandfather is all TOO ready to do to me what he did to Mother._ She nodded shortly. _Cooperating would be far more beneficial, than carrying on as I did before coming here. Not merely because I want to live, but simply because they have enough to deal with already._

"You're still awake?"

She turned to Giselle, who'd finally opened her eyes and were watching her with a detached interest that bordered on impatience. Mariemaia nodded lightly, unable to refuse deep flickers of suspicion.

"The same could be said of YOU."

"Pilots live on adrenaline. We don't sleep much."

"Even pilots get tired."

"This is true. So, what do you think of Kayline?"

Mariemaia shrugged lightly. "She seems to be just another hardened soldier with more weight on their shoulders than Atlas."

"That was very poetic of you."

"Very OBSERVANT: I don't know anything about your sister, but it's clear she is more than "versed" in the ways of warfare. She's written many a verse herself and that goes without saying." Mariemaia narrowed her eyes. "You're a soldier as well. You can see that for yourself, can't you?"

Giselle nodded slowly. "I know ALL about Kayline's exploits; she earned quite a reputation for herself. But living in trenches and building bombs herself isn't exactly fitting of a soldier of her caliber. She should ONLY be giving the orders, not carrying them out as well. The Mayorga family is a proud one, not a family of grunts and "go-for's". To shuffle around with the junior ranking is beneath her station."

"You sound rather disdainful about her being personally involved in combat. I imagined you would have some sort of pride in your sister, especially considering how long it has been since you last saw her in person. She's earned her reputation--she also deserves her rank and standing. Speaking of which?" _She's hiding something--how deep should I sink this next barb to get her talking?_ "Twenty three years is a very long time. That's practically the bulk of your lifetime thus far. Surely you're not JEALOUS of Kayline's successes, that you've come all the way here just to see what she's doing? Maybe even to disrupt her plans to give your own ego a boost...? You've yet to mention your own exploits, leading me to believe that you were little more than a pilot who'd never seen anything beyond a supply route. Or a DESK for that matter."

The glass of water was pushed aside, and Giselle folded her long fingers on the table. A measured gesture at first glance, but Mariemaia saw the tension in her wrists. The older woman folded her lips briefly and tilted her head. _Perfection_.

"I'll have you know, little girl, that I was a recon specialist AND a pilot for the Alliance. Unfortunately, due to injuries that have left me with a herniated disc, two pairs of screws in each knee, a plate in my dome and a hip replacement, my time in recon was cut drastically short. I'm fortunate I can even WALK, let alone breathe. I've been a pilot for a lot longer than you've been alive, both of shuttles AND mobile suits. I may not be a soldier of Kayline's level, but I'm still one nonetheless."

"Then why does she treat you like a threat?"

"For all intent and purposes, I AM a threat." Giselle shook her head. "Not in the literal sense; I'm more of a walking "conflict of interest". Our father favored me over her, so when she left for OZ she was immediately exiled. Despite being an active member of the Alliance, I was officially coroneted as the next in line for the throne."

"Is she aware of this?"

"Fully: our mother told her, and since then she's had nothing but anger for me. Can't say I blame her. But what she doesn't know is that I've already been given full power of attorney over Brazil's colonies. Should she survive this so-called war against Barton and our father die prior to that--and he's expected to, I ultimately decide whether or not she's allowed there. What she also doesn't know is that our mother and Howard had been conspiring to get rid of our father and install her as Queen. When our father found out about their plans, he ordered her death."

Mariemaia nodded lightly. "The ten times you tried to reach her, was to warn her."

"Precisely. But having been thrown out of the country in favor of ME, our calls lasted no more than thirty seconds. I counted."

"And why are you here, knowing that she'd rather take your head off than hear what you have to say?"

"Kayline is no fool. If I'm here, she knows something is wrong within the family. I'm sure she'll want nothing to do with it, but since this IS to her benefit--and ultimately OZ's benefit--she'll hear me out." Giselle shrugged lightly. "I'm also going to tell her the truth about what happened back then, and what our mother and Howard are doing now."

_It explains why Howard went into hiding, yet it's only a 'plausible' one. She could be lying to ME and saving the truth for Marx. Or vice versa._ "And what would that be?"

"Since our father is turning over Brazil's colonies to the Federation, the members of the Mayorga family have decided to launch humanitarian efforts and provide "support" to the Federation soldiers on earth. Particularly in Europe where there has been a spike in "rebel" activity over the last six months." Giselle smiled thinly. "I don't really have to explain what THAT means do I?"

"Not at all. How long before your family starts to send shuttles to the earth?"

"It'll have to wait until after the storm clears. It'll land in two days and probably last upwards of a week, maybe longer. It means your grandfather will have to wait to carry out whatever plans HE has as well."

"Do you believe she'll apologize for treating you poorly all these years?" Mariemaia asked warily. "Judging by her demeanor, she doesn't seem like the person who'd apologize, even if she was proven wrong. She seems so--"

"Rude? Crass? Like a bitch of the highest order?" Giselle waved dismissively. "I've already forgiven that. She was basically KICKED OUT of her homeland, stripped of her birthright, privilege, even her culture. Of course she'll be angry with me: I'm reminding her of everything she lost. But while our mother would want her to apologize to me, I'm not expecting it. Nor am I going to ask for it. My main interest is making sure she and the rest of her faction has what they need to keep the Federation at bay. My PURPOSE is to make sure she and her faction lives to at least avoid execution BY the Federation. If she wants to engage me as a sibling, then I'm more than happy to respond in kind. Until then, this is the way it has to be."

There were several knocks at the door, and hardly a minute passed before it swung open. Standing in the doorway was--

"Kayline?"

"Giselle. I need to talk to the girl." Marx narrowed her eyes. "IF you don't mind?"

"Whether I mind or not is irrelevant. This is YOUR base, Kayline. I have no say here."

"I'm glad you understand that. You and I will talk in the morning."

"I'll be here. If I need anything, I'll ask."

Marx nodded, as if an underlying expectation had been fulfilled. Despite the two decades of lost time, the estranged sisters probably knew each other better than they realized. At least, in regards to the roles of captor and prisoner of war: a seemingly simplistic arrangement, with deeper levels of complication. Mariemaia left her place on the bed and walked towards Marx. "Has something happened?"

"I'll explain on the way. Giselle, can I TRUST you to stay out of trouble?"

"Yes, Kayline."

"See you in the morning then." In the hallway with the door closed in their wake, Marx was walking at a pace that had Mariemaia at a near jog. She frowned when the towering officer lit a fresh cigarette. The frown was returned in kind. "Is there a problem?"

"You smoke too much, and you're unnecessarily cold to Giselle."

"If you lived my life for the last twenty years, you'd smoke this much too, and how I treat Giselle is none of your business." Marx shrugged lightly. "But you're not here to pick up MY bad habits or interrogate me about family relations now are you?"

"Where are you taking me?"

"To my quarters: you, I, my colleague and a little friend of yours are going to have a long talk about the next couple of days." she snickered lightly. "And don't worry; you won't get popped between the eyes again."

Mariemaia sighed wearily as she was ushered out of the building and into the frigid darkness. _If that's ALL I have to worry about, then I'm doing better than I thought._

* * *

*Moon Base*

"I want a full explanation as to why you allowed Mariemaia to delay your preparations for your mission."

Dekim watched Trowa narrow his eyes in pure disdain from the far side of his desk.

"I'm not going to turn away my only niece, Father."

"You had responsibilities to fulfill."

"And I was returning to those responsibilities when you called me here."

Dekim waved a dismissive hand and shook his head. "Be that as it may, your personal technicians for Gundam Heavyarms have all been assassinated. The mobile suit has been stolen. ALL FIVE have been stolen, deployed without my authorization and being piloted by individuals who managed to get past my security. And while they are all off the moon, they have NOT landed on earth yet--meaning, they are still within the colonies. Which brings us back to my initial question: why did you allow Mariemaia to hold you in the mess hall? Was it so these people could carry out their theft without my knowledge?"

Trowa frowned heavily at him. "If Mariemaia was wrapped up with rebels, she didn't say anything to ME about it. She came to the hangars to see me off, and I took her to the mess hall to talk to her before I left. As I ALWAYS do before leaving on an assignment. If someone managed to weasel their way past you and your drones, it has absolutely nothing to do with me. Talk to THEM."

Of course the theft of all five Gundams had nothing to do with Trowa. He would not in any way instigate or take part in something so grandiose yet rife with consequences. However, Trowa was holding back. He was withholding the details of his conversation with Mariemaia.

"I have already launched an investigation on the security department. And since you do not seem to have a reason as to why you were delayed, I hope you can tell me exactly what she said to you?" Dekim tilted his head. "She's shown a great deal of...disinterest in her studies as of late. I was told she'd sent her tutors back to the colonies. Has she told you anything that she otherwise would NOT tell me for whatever reason?"

"Only that she has no real interest in politics." Trowa snorted lightly. "The girl is too smart to be wasted playing God with your hand chosen puppets Father."

"Her intelligence is her greatest asset. In fact, it's because of that intelligence--that KNOWLEDGE--she is no longer here."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Mariemaia has fled the Moon Base."

"Bullshit."

"Not at all. In fact, surveillance footage shows her leaving the mess hall, conferring with someone via her workstation, and then leaving with another person shortly afterward." Dekim folded his fingers on the desk. "Then, she was observed entering the hangar bay for a shuttle bound for the earth. ...While holding you from your duties, did she mention leaving at all to you?"

Trowa, eyeing him with utter disbelief shook his head lightly. "She said she wished she was elsewhere, because she was tired of having to listen to you ramble about political schemes and such. But she didn't say anything specific about leaving."

"Then I will bring you up to date. Mariemaia is suspected in abetting the rebellion both here and on the earth. In other words, she is suspected of espionage on OZ's behalf. Charges of espionage and treason to the Colonial Federation are pending."

"That can't be right."

"But it is. The communications logs in her workstation show that she'd been in regular contact with a non-descript individual for several YEARS. That means she'd been engaging in these activities since she was quite young. As a result, our ranks have been infiltrated by this rebellion to such a degree that who is working for whom can no longer be determined easily. Are you understanding the nature of this situation, son?" Dekim narrowed his eyes. "Mariemaia, through voluntarily siding with the rebellion, has become a WAR CRIMINAL and will be regarded as such from here on."

"My god Father, she's a CHILD! She's only twelve years old!"

"Even a CHILD is capable of terrorism when they share a level of intelligence with her. She's shown me increasing levels of defiance for the last five years, which confirm my suspicions that she has been assisting these individuals. And as a war criminal, she will be tried by ALL senior officials of the Federation."

"So you mean to tell me she'll be executed if you find her?"

"This brings us to the crux of our meeting, Trowa. You will be sent to earth to inspect a supply facility we'd lost contact with several days ago." Dekim shook his head, deflecting a protest from Trowa. "It is likely that the shuttle she boarded was bound for that facility--it refused all contact the moment it departed the hangar. I want you to inspect this supply base; I want a full report on its activities and personnel. If Mariemaia is there, I want you to arrest her formally and bring her here."

"I refuse." he snapped and rose from his seat. "I am NOT going to drag Mariemaia here so you can murder her! Wasn't Leia enough for you? How many more of us do you plan on disposing of to keep your precious position?"

"This isn't a request, Trowa. It's an ORDER, and one I expect you to obey to the best of your ability." Dekim pushed a folder towards him. "Here, you will find all you need to know about the terrain around the supply facility. To avoid further intervention by outsiders who may be a part of her cabal, this will be a SOLO assignment. You are to talk to NO ONE about this; *I* will be your only contact in the colonies regarding this situation. ...Consequences for failing to comply hardly need to be stated. Do they?"

He watched Trowa scowl at him in pure hatred, but it was brief. His son's face slowly shifted to a frown of defeat as he snatched the folder from the surface of the desk. Trowa was no fool; he valued his own life more than anyone else's. Even his troublesome niece would be sacrificed if necessary.

"Anything else I need to know, FATHER?"

"There is a storm near the facility that will make communications and travel difficult. It will cover the general vicinity within the next 48 hours. Once the storm has died down and travel possible again, you will be deployed immediately."

Trowa turned on his heel and started towards the door. From Mariemaia's escape to the developing storm, the theft of the Gundams and above all Treize's escape of the siege, Dekim's grasp on the situation had weakened severely. He had come to terms with the fact that all this was a result of underestimating the girl's intelligence for TOO LONG. He should have been stricter, firmer with her. He should have overseen who was tutoring her personally, as well as who she was speaking to when out of his immediate presence. Yet, with his admittance of his own failings, he was determined to retain the upper hand. Trowa had been diligent about obeying his every word, until twelve hours ago. But unlike Leia, he would use his eldest--and remaining--son to re-establish the hold on the earth that he spent decades striving for.

_Stay the course, old son. Stay the course._

"Trowa?" He turned around and eyed Dekim with weariness and disdain. Dekim nodded encouragingly. "I wish you Godspeed; you'll need it."

An agitated sound was made before Trowa strode out of the office, the door quietly sliding shut behind him. Had it been a traditional door, it would have been slammed clean off its hinges.

* * *

I apologize for the long wait. Thank you for being patient and for reading! If you haven't already, please leave a review. Thanks again!


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

***Amazon Rainforest; Brazil, South America***

Schala did not feel well.

Though she was under three blankets, she was still shivering and still sweating. She was hungry, but wanted to vomit. She was afraid to ask to be taken to "the hole", lest she "go" on herself before she made it there. The room spun at a speed she wasn't used to and the all-over ache made her whimper. The only thing she could do to not make herself anymore uncomfortable was staring at the ceiling and its peeling, festive green paint with the flickering fluorescent ring.

Her mother, stringy tresses falling from her sloppy ponytail entered her field of vision. Before the sky fell, she was beautiful with sun-kissed skin and long curls. Now she looked as if she'd never slept. Her full lips were cracked from dryness. Seemed the only thing that survived the last six years was her eyes-they were still as green as the paint on the walls, in spite of the fear and concern laid thick.

"How do you feel _boneca_?"

_Boneca_. "Doll". She felt like a _rag_ doll that'd been thrown from a high floor to the street; a crumpled heap with strings that burst from the impact.

A whimper for an answer.

"The doctor says the candy you ate is what made you sick. So you can't have anymore, okay?"

All Schala could manage was a nod that sent a new ripple of shivers, sweats, and pain through her yet again. A new need to "go" and a new rotation of the room.

"Daddy?"

She frowns and looks away to the only window in the room. "Playing with his toys."

"He...hurt...anyone?"

"No. Not yet." The frown deepens. "We're going to have to talk to him. He's been obsessed with those things since they showed up."

"Why?"

"Because he _could_ hurt someone if he's not-"

"Why...did...sky...fall?"

The frown vanishes completely. Her mother breathes deeply and shakes her head.

"I don't know _boneca_. I just don't know."

"Senhora? Good morning." It's the doctor. He appears opposite her mother, still dressed in the pale green hospital scrubs with thin glasses framed by his own tangled hair. They exchange polite smiles and mutter greetings to one another. He looks down and smiles thinly. "Hello, Schala. Do you feel any better than yesterday?"

She nods slowly.

"You're a very lucky little girl. Anymore of those sweets, and you wouldn't be with us. Now I'm going to give you some medicine to help you get through the pain and the shivering. It's going to take a while, so you have to be patient, okay?"

All she can do is nod, even if the room does start turning again. She just wants this...whatever it is, to be over with.

"Senhora, I'll need to speak with you in the hallway."

"Okay." Her mother is reluctant to leave, patting her matted hair gently before following him out. Schala closes her eyes and tries to ignore the chills and the pain. Instead, she over hears the doctor say something about a "heroine", "near overdose" and "withdrawal". That giving her "methadone" would help her over time.

Schala wasn't a heroine; she didn't save anything or anyone. Sure, she had more candy than she was supposed to but what was she running from? Nothing made sense, just as the sky falling didn't make any sense. It sounded like another one of those "things" she'd understand when she grew older, like her rich cousin used to tell her before she went away to the military.

The doctor reappeared with a nurse, who busied herself in and out of her field of vision. Her mother also reappeared, planting a hand on her forehead while still looking at the doctor.

"You're going to feel a "pinch", and then the pain will slowly go away. You'll have to come back tomorrow for more, or you're going to get sick again. Alright?"

It wouldn't have mattered if she said "yes" or "no"; she didn't understand anything to even try and give an answer. She shivered abruptly as the air brushed the arm that was pulled from under the blankets and the pain masked the "pinch" she was supposed to feel. It wouldn't have mattered if they left her arm out or shoved it back under the blanket-she was still hot-cold, hungry-nauseas and on the verge of shitting herself when she didn't want to.

"That's all for today. When she can move around again, you're free to take her back to your flat." He patted her hand lightly. "And no more sweets for you, understand?"

He was gone with the nurse before she could respond, but it wouldn't have mattered. Schala couldn't understand anything, not even the gradual warmth that flooded her.

What _was_ methadone, anyway? And why give it to a heroine?

* * *

***Federation Supply Facility; Countryside***

"Mariemaia, you need to understand a few things about your newfound...circumstances."

Marx folded her hands on the table. Miliardo sat to her right, trying and starting to fail to look alert. He was exhausted and eager to get this over with. Mariemaia and Hilde, the Sweepers supply clerk who befriended the younger girl sat across from him and they looked as tired as he felt. Marx was probably the most awake out of all of them, and even she was starting to wear down.

"First off, what worked for you in the colonies is _not_ going to work here. You've admitted to that on the way here. That being said, you are now expected to follow orders as if you're a member of this faction. Understood?"

Mariemaia nodded slowly. "Will the discs I gave you be of any use?"

"ANY information on the Federation's activities within the next fourteen days will be useful. If what you said about Barton's plans to send your uncle down here is true, then they'll be more than useful." Marx waved slightly. "But your work is done on that end. Right now, we just need you to keep a low profile."

"Surely I could do something other than follow orders."

"Much as I would like to, I can't afford to do that. We're still not sure whose side Giselle is on in spite of what she says. To give you _carte blanch_ could put your life and everyone else's in jeopardy." Marx shrugged. "Besides, you'll be answering to me and Merquise only for the time being. I'd be a damn fool to put you in someone else's hands when-according to Howard-your welfare is supposed to be _my_ responsibility for the moment."

The girl sank into her chair. "You make it sound as if you're babysitting me."

"Technically, yes. We _are_ babysitting you." Marx tilted her head. "And like a good sitter, I'm also going to be blunt with you: _do not_ attempt to cross us, Mariemaia. You'll do as you're told, when you're told to do it. Deviate from our orders and we'll make you _wish_ you were back in the colonies. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal."

"Now you and Hilde will be staying together. Hilde, this is no "punishment" for talking to her. She owes you an apology for lying about her identity and the two of you seem to get on well."

"She doesn't have to apologize to me." Hilde shook her head slowly. "Knowing what I do now, I can understand why she felt the need to do it. I have no problems staying with her."

"That makes matters easier, then. I showed you where your quarters will be; go straight there and come back here in twelve hours. Get some sleep. You'll need it."

Without protest, Marimaia and Hilde left their seats and made their exit. When the door clicked shut behind them, Marx heaved a fatigued sigh and rubbed her eyes.

"I don't know about you, but I could pass out right about now I'm so fucking tired."

"I just might beat you to that."

"You know, once upon a time we would've handled sleep deprivation pretty well."

""Once upon a time" is long over. We're not young anymore, Marx."

"Don't remind me."

"What do you plan to do with Giselle?" Miliardo shook his head slightly. "If what Giselle told Mariemaia is the truth, then this situation is going to escalate even farther beyond our control."

"That seems to be the direction Howard is steering us in." She narrowed her eyes. "Which I don't appreciate, obviously and with the distance between me and my family considered. 23 years is a long time to suddenly show face and give a shit. Especially after being exiled by that very same family who is supposedly coming to help us."

"Ulterior motives?"

"There _has_ to be. Otherwise, why would they even bother?" She waved flippantly. "I have no idea what they plan to gain from extracting us and taking us to the colonies. Trowa Barton coming in two weeks sounds like a feasible reason, but even that's risky. The weather won't really allow travel for at least another week after the storm passes. That means Trowa, my family, and Howard's friends will be arriving just around the same time while _we_ try to dig ourselves out. How in the hell are they going to pull off an extraction in the middle of all that?"

"It's clear that Howard's peers and your family are in league with each other. I can't imagine otherwise, if they're all aware of Trowa Barton's arrival."

Marx tapped a finger on the table. "But the question still stands: what does the Mayorga family have to gain from their involvement? Helping us out sounds nice on paper and in a news feed, but the risks are too high now that the elder Barton has restricted travel to earth to only military operations and _minimal_ Sweepers' activity."

"Namely, Sweepers activity he wants to _monitor_. No chance we can contact Siberia?"

"That's the next problem: we can't."

"Let me guess." Miliardo drawled. "Howard decided that doing so will blow our cover, and cut down our ability to communicate via Sweepers' satellite."

"Basically."

"Howard takes a lot of liberties."

"I _know_." Marx rolled her eyes. "And true to form, he lets me know exactly what the cargo that was sent here is _in detail_ as some sort of bullshit consolation prize." she counted off on her fingers. "Latest rifles out of the manufacturer, new schematics that look like upgrades of his friends' work, and enough equipment to repair and support them."

"What about your own mobile suits?"

"If we can't contact Siberia, I can't have them brought here." She narrowed her eyes. "Howard did that to spite me. He knows full well those mobile suits I built can make whatever his friends made look like cheap action figures. But as always, he undermines the hell out of me and my ability "in my best interests"."

"Sounds like something Trieze used to do."

"Did Treize ever insult your intelligence?"

"...No." Miliardo shook his head. "Never. Surely there's method to-"

"Method to Howard's madness? Of course there is, but we'll never know what those methods are until he tells us. Right now, all we can do and as much as it kills me is just do as he says." She frowned. "Though I'm curious if we can reach out to Dorothy. If she's really supposed to bring Treize here and they're mobile by now, we can probably track them on our own without the Sweepers' help."

It sounded feasible. "Though, Howard's letter said-"

"_Fuck_ Howard. *I* run this base and *I* run this faction at the moment, not him! He is _not_ going to stop me, and he's welcome to try!"

It sounded familiar; she almost sounded like Treize, when he cursed Dermail for undermining, underestimating, and outright meddling in his plans. Yet unlike Howard, Dermail knew his limits. Howard seemed absolutely uncouth in his dealings with Marx, as if he used their long-time association as leverage for his actions. There was no telling just how far Howard had gone or would go, or if he'd ever show any regard for Marx's boundaries. Here she was, the acting commanding officer of a faction however stricken, and Howard practically toyed and taunted her _from a distance_ with no respect for her authority whatsoever.

Miliardo couldn't help but feel annoyed himself. Dermail had never gone this far with Treize, and the latter certainly didn't bother at all with any junior to him. Both were _laissez-faire_ to a degree.

Howard just didn't care.

"I suppose we should dispose of the letter somehow. Make it look as if it was lost after Giselle arrived." The suggestion earned the rise of a single sable eyebrow with baited silence. Marx was listening. "she handed me the letter after you left the office. You and I can easily claim it was lost or damaged, therefore unreadable. Or that Giselle _never_ turned over a letter to you in the first place."

"Go on."

"Considering that it's been a reasonable amount of time since we both saw Giselle, it would be easy to claim that the letter was destroyed "by accident" or went missing IN that time." Miliardo gestured lightly. "I say, we just stop following Howard's directives beyond watching over Mariemaia, and do whatever _we_ feel is necessary. We can always come up with a cover story later."

"Sounds good. Just one problem: Giselle."

"Throw her in the brig."

"He's expecting that."

"Then give it to him." Miliardo shrugged. "Considering how he's gone farther than what could be considered permissible with you, I say you have the right. Especially, since she so conveniently presents a security concern with her presence alone. As you said earlier we don't know whose side she's truly on. We scarcely know whose side Howard is on _either_. We should play both sides of the fence, and reclaim what control we can over this fiasco. We have the resources, so why _not_?"

"Looking at the fact that we're going to be on our own for the next two to three weeks, we might as well." Marx nodded lightly. "Hardly needs to be said, but you do realize that even if we cut off Howard, we'll still have the Mayorga family to deal with?"

"Another card to be played."

"How?"

"We can take the fight to Barton _himself_."

She frowned hard and reared her head back. "Are you fucking serious? I mean, it's possible but we can't just leave-"

"Marx, you read the letter: we're going to be pulled out of here, "by force, if necessary"." He shook his head. "Furthermore, the population here _does not_ want our help. They've already chosen where to place their loyalty, and it's not with OZ or the earth. Constantly fighting to turn them to the truth is going to get us killed, and you know that. Everyone knows that. This battle of futility is over, Marx. Don't you think it's time to finally fight the _war_?"

"That's something Treize would say."

"Have you ever known him to be wrong?"

"Can't say that I ever did know him to be wrong. The bastard was right about damn near everything." Marx nodded her agreement. "Though, do you think Trieze will concede to this? We may not have anything to lose, but he's not about to just up and leave without a viable reason."

Miliardo snorted. "I practically call the man my brother, Marx. I _know_ him, and I know how much he despises Barton. He won't decline such a grand opportunity to strike at the old man."

"Alright, I'm sold." she raised her hands in palms in defeat. "We'll get a hold of Comms and tell them to track down Catalonia. First, you and I have an arrest to make."

* * *

***Luxembourg; Outskirts***

The pavement came up hard against Sally's face as she was slammed to the ground. A stiff boot shoved into the base of her spine. The 'clack' of the rifle at the back of her head.

"Where are they?"

"Where's who!"

"Don't play stupid, Major. Where are the Sweepers!"

"The Sweepers!" Her surprise earned a kick to her side; she glared at her assailant in spite of wrapping herself around her new injury. "That was uncalled for."

"A bullet will be next if you don't tell me where the Sweepers are!"

"I told you! _I don't know_! Why the hell would I lie!"

They jabbed a thumb at the three transport vehicles and the OZ soldiers lined up with hands behind their heads, all held at gunpoint. "They helped you steal these, correct?"

"NO! And why the hell would the Sweepers help _me_? I have no contact with them! Even if I did, they're not so damned stupid to risk their own personnel to come down here now _are _they!"

"You've been out of the loop a long time." They shook their head. "The Sweepers have been on earth running covert operations against the Colonial Federation for the last five or so years. Rumor has it they've been helping an OZ general-which one, we're not certain but it hardly matters. As long as we find the Sweepers, we'll find OZ and that's where you come in." A new round was racked into the chamber. "Let's start from the top. Where are the Sweepers?"

Sally narrowed her eyes. Enough was enough. "I've been having a very bad day. You're the third person to have a weapon trained on me, and the second to accuse me of lying. And since the trend in these parts is to refuse to give anyone the benefit of a doubt, why don't you go ahead and _put me out of my misery._ After all, I've got nothing to look forward to except _maybe_ starving half to death or getting myself killed trying to find a man I neither know nor give a shit about! So if you're going to shoot me, get it over with and _PULL THE TRIGGER_!"

"Huh?" The rifle faltered. "What man? Who are you talking about?"

"_You_! What the hell is going on!"

Sally wilted with relief. At least the focus was off of her for a moment.

"Sir! We've found them in the process of stealing these vehicles and fleeing the area!" The assailant pointed at her. "This woman was leading the group. She could be affiliated with the Sweepers; we're damned lucky to have caught up to them just before they could leave-"

"Is that so?" The voice sounded familiar. "Do you have a description of the Sweepers in question?"

"Uh...no-"

"So you have this woman eating the pavement without as much as a photograph to compare her to?" The voice rose in anger and with authority. "Is _this_ how you were trained to conduct a proper interrogation? By manhandling captives?"

"N-no sir! I just thought-"

"Thinking will get you killed. If not by a bullet then by me! Now go join the patrol detail. _Move_."

Whoever this man was, Sally's assailant made no attempt to argue with him. They gave her a baleful glance and took off running. The newcomer kneeled and pushed the brim of his black cap upward. She cringed in disbelief. "You _bastard_."

"First compliment I've had in years." Treize smiled and tapped his cheek in suggestion to her bruised one. Kept his voice low. "Well! That's going to leave a mark now isn't it?"

"Straight to hell with you-"

"Not so loud. Feel free to curse me later, after we leave the area." He was up and gone, leaving Sally to sigh hard and wince against the flash of pain where her face met road. He was right. It _was_ going to leave a mark.

_Son of a..._

"I'm taking over here. All of you form the second detail and search the area. The Sweepers are here; I want them found in the hour."

"But what about-"

"_Do not_ make me repeat myself!"

That was enough to send them running. The handful that held the half dozen OZ soldiers at gunpoint were traded with another set that waved for silence and in recognition. Sally started to question how Treize managed to con his way past these Federation troops, but dismissed the notion. A tone of unflinching authority along with upper-rank flashes wasn't going to be questioned, and Treize had both in spades. Those soldiers he chased off were young-children in comparison to experience and time served. Of course they were going to fall over themselves to obey.

Then again, higher ranking members of OZ were just that overbearing.

_Better them than me_. Sally slowly peeled herself from the ground and wrapped an arm around her waist. She wasn't kicked as hard as she thought, but it still hurt to move. A firm hand pulled her the rest of the way upright. "Thanks."

"Apologies for not arriving sooner." Treize shook his head slightly and pulled at the lapel of the black battle dress shirt. "A costume change was necessary."

"I can respect that. What now?"

"Consider your mission to find Miliardo aborted. We know where he is."

"If you knew this entire time-"

"We DID NOT know "this entire time"." He frowned impatiently and turned to the activity across from them, notably at the bright blonde who resembled him. "We were just recently INFORMED."

"Who is that?"

"A relative." He snorted. "And a member of the Sweepers it seems."

Sally gave him a sidelong glance. _Not only is he full of shit, he's also full of surprises. __Brilliant._ "So you mean to tell me I have bruised ribs and a bruised face because of some relative of yours?"

"You were a moment short of earning a bullet, last time I checked." Treize returned her expression tenfold. "I'd be _grateful_ for such minimal injuries. I heard those ceramic rounds can be quite painful. The Federation soldiers you had maimed to steal these vehicles weren't as fortunate as you, either."

"I claim self-preservation in that."

"So I saw." He turned to his family member before seeing Sally's face fall to the ground. "Dorothy, do we have enough supplies to survive the trip or not?"

"Dorothy" huffed her way towards the cab and hauled herself into the driver's seat with ease. She'd been through this before. "Yes, we _do_ have enough supplies and we can leave _now_ if you're done socializing!"

"Settle down, this will only take a few moments."

"You saw what happened?"

"Apparently we weren't too far behind you." Sally found herself limping slightly in an attempt to keep up as Treize walked off with a slight shrug. "Rather than complicate the situation, we waited for you to do the work. Just so happened that as we were going to approach you, the Federation appeared and the last five minutes speak for themselves. Stealing uniforms and weapons from the dead and playing a con artist aren't hobbies of mine, but circumstances demanded I improvise for the moment in order to avoid getting us ALL killed. And so, here we are."

Sally frowned dubiously. "You played a pretty good con artist, once upon a time."

"I suppose I was always a fairly good liar. One would have to be in order to survive the noble circles but that's beside the point." He waved casually. "We're all alive, and we have transportation. Furthermore, it's no longer your obligation to find Miliardo. I say the only thing left to do is leave as soon as possible. Speaking of which, where are the people you traveled with? Did they leave without you?"

"Yes they _did_. A minor loss, believe me."

"You sound bitter."

"Hardly. They were dead weight, if anything."

"I figured as much."

"Where's Une?"

"Right behind you."

Sally turned around and saw the former Colonel chatting in low tones with another officer whose hair was dark, tangled and long. By the tone of their gestures and voices, one was trying to reason with the other. Une lost the battle; her peer shook her head and stormed off, leaving Une to look at her with obvious concern. She sighed hard, rubbed briefly at her forehead and left to join Dorothy in the driver's cab. She didn't even notice Sally as she strode past.

"Dissent among the ranks, Treize?"

He snorted lowly. "Let's say that decisions were made on our behalf, that in turn pushed us to make decisions we _did not_ want to make. I'm not expecting anyone to agree. Particularly her."

Sally raised an eyebrow. "Dare I even ask what happened?"

"I'll bring you up to speed once we're mobile."

"You don't sound too happy about that."

" I'm not."

The pair had made their way to the driver's side of the vehicle; Treize banged on the door. "Dorothy, we're leaving now. What's the fastest way out of here?" No answer. He leered into the cab. "Dorothy, a moment ago you were complaining! What's the-" He followed her gaping line of sight and stepped back. "What in the world?"

Sally looked at Dorothy, then Treize and frowned irritably. "Well? Are we staying or are we leaving!"

"That depends." Treize pointed upward at the three Leos that towered over them. "Are these friends of yours?"

* * *

After a lengthy leave of absence, I've finally updated. It's been a very long time, I know. Hopefully now that things have calmed down a bit, there'll be less time between updates. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you haven't already, do leave a review!

Thanks for reading!


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